


A Knight's Tale

by Dr_Harbinger



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Minor Character Death, NaNoWriMo, Slow Burn, Templar Hawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-09-28 17:24:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 67,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10141493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dr_Harbinger/pseuds/Dr_Harbinger
Summary: Ser Garrett Hawke, Knight of the Templar Order of Ferelden, had been perfectly happy at his post until the Blight broke through Ostagar and laid waste to the small village. After getting them out he sent them away, he stayed behind to aid the Order in Ferelden against the darkspawn. With the Blight defeated, his original posting gone and no need for him in Ferelden, he transferred to Kirkwall to watch over his family not knowing the people he would know and events he would witness there would shake the world to its core.





	1. Escape from Lothering

**Author's Note:**

> TL;DR: This is a retelling of Dragon Age II where Garrett Hawke is a devoted knight of the Templar Order while Bethany Hawke is the protag of the game. An outsider-looking-in-on-main-plot AU basically.

He was tired already, his every muscle screaming in pain from the strain placed upon it, but Ser Garrett Hawke could not afford to slow down. A darkspawn leapt at him, blades in hand and he raised his shield to catch the blow before knocking the creature back and carving through it will his quickly dulling blade. His breath was labored. Behind him he heard Carver cutting down another creature and Bethany blocked more from coming at them from behind. Mother got to her feet from where she had tripped. Maker, Garrett was glad that he had had the foresight to gather a few vials of lyrium to sustain him from the Lothering Chantry. With Lothering gone and Maker knew how large the horde was...

Mother lamented the loss of everything that Father and she had built. Garrett wanted to truly be sympathetic, he did, but he had not been home in nearly ten years. What his family had built in that time he had not known or been a part of. But Bethany did. “I’m so sorry Mother,” Bethany said sadly, “I know how much Lothering meant to you. We should have run sooner.” She turned her furious brown eyes on her brothers. “Why did we wait so long?”

Carver shrugged. “Don’t look at us. We haven’t stopped running since Ostagar.” And wasn’t that the truth. It was where Garrett had lost his helmet and first got his shield badly dented.

“Look, you two,” he snapped, irritated that his siblings would rather bicker than move, “we don’t have time for this. If we don’t get moving soon the darkspawn will be upon us. Again.”

“Please!” Leandra begged, “Listen to your brother!”

Carver rolled his eyes and Bethany was too unnerved to say anything. “Lead on then,” Carver snapped.

So Garrett did. He took point, shield blocking blades and arrows from the next wave of darkspawn. One of the blades caught on the chainmail of his arm but did little damage. He needed to rest but how could he? Nowhere was safe. Together they cut through the next small band before again Bethany spoke, this time actually bringing up a legitimate point. Where were they going? Other than away from the darkspawn?

“We can go to Kirkwall.”

Even Garrett stared at his mother for that one. “I have heard of Knight Commander Meredith,” he said, rolling his shoulders in his armor, “and from the tales I hear, Bethany might have a better shot against the darkspawn here than the Circle under Meredith’s command.”

“But we have family there and an estate.”

Money alone would not save her from the Templars, nor status if she did not keep her magic well hidden. But somehow Father and Bethany had managed for so long… perhaps it was possible. Either way he would not be with them. If they wanted to go to Kirkwall… he could only get them as far as the port they were going to take ship from. Already he knew his mother was going to protest and harshly but he had sacred duties and could not abandon them. Bethany seemed resigned to their task. Carver was just focused on the here and now. Garrett, at least, felt better after the moment’s rest. He could keep pressing further. 

They cut down another small group of darkspawn before they heard the roar of someone else, pair of people not far off fighting in the distance. A cry of pain and the clatter of a shield on the ground. Garrett focused on his opponent with gritted teeth. The warrior did not have long without his shield. Even these small groups were deadly. Together, he and Carver eliminated the remaining darkspawn with Bethany’s help from a distance and he had to admit he was surprised to see that the wounded soldier was not only alive but a Brother of the Order. 

“Apostate!” The knight hissed, struggling to his feet, “Keep your distance!”

“Well the Maker has a sense of humor,” Bethany said sarcastically when she shifted, “First darkspawn and now a lone Templar.”

Garrett raised an eyebrow at his sister, as clearly he was a Templar too, but either she didn’t see it or ignored it. She was more intent on the man who was trying to clarify what he meant, citing doctrine he clearly did not understand. “The Order dictates…” 

The woman with him said his name but the Templar pressed forward. Garrett stepped between the wounded Templar and his sister, glaring the man down. “She is already watched, Brother,” he said sharply, “and has proven to be no maleficar. Calm yourself before you pick a fight you cannot win.”

That drew Wesley’s attention more so than anything. His look of distrust shifted abruptly. It was almost funny to watch. “And you are?”

“Ser Garrett. I served with the Order in Ostagar, keeping an eye on the mages gathered at the King’s request. And you?”

“He is Ser Wesley,” the woman said with more than a note of impatience and frustration in her voice, “and I am his wife, Aveline Vallen. We can hate each other after we are safe from the horde.”

She had a valid point but “How bad is that wound?” If the knight couldn’t continue on then it was better to end him here and now by their blades than to let the horde descend upon him. 

“My sword arm’s a loss, even with healing.”

Fantastic. One more to protect. But there was another amongst them with a blade more than happy to defend him while Garrett and his siblings guarded mother. There was no time to dawdle though. The first wave of the horde had swept through Lothering but there were enough stragglers left that staying still would bring them down upon their small group too quickly for them to keep up. So they pressed ahead, Garrett taking the rear guard and letting Carver and the new woman, Aveline, take point. Bethany stayed close to mother and Wesley, casting her spells to help them when needed. Garrett struggled to keep up with their group. His armor was by far the heaviest (other than Wesley’s) though it would be foolish to abandon it in the middle of combat.

Yet somehow they made it through the darkspawn waves, one after the other, even facing a darkspawn mage that fell easily beneath Garrett’s Silence and then a Holy Smite before he returned to the small group shambling after them from behind. A lucky darkspawn arrow caught his shoulder. He grunted at the pain but didn’t stop. There wasn’t time. Not unless the last of the beasts was cut down. Mother fretted as he sheathed his blade and pulled the damn thing out. He saw no darkspawn blood on it, just his own. Well. That was good at least.

They fought their way onto a nearby plateau. The very ground beneath their feet trembled just moments before an ogre roared into sight. Garrett had to leap out of the way of its charge and got to his feet as quickly as he could but he was too far away to do anything as the creature turned its beady eyes onto mother. Carver was closer. He gave a mighty war cry and charged the monster, blade swinging hard to hack at what little armor it wore but failed to do more than scratch the metal. The creature’s massive hand grabbed him and before anyone could do anything else, slammed Carver hard onto the ground a few times before crushing his bones and tossing him aside. Mother’s cries of grief echoed in Garrett’s ears but he had to focus and keep the monster’s attention away from her. He could mourn his fallen brother later.

He charged the thing like Carver had but with more caution and a more precise goal. He hit its knee hard enough to make it lose balance and with Bethany’s magic setting the ogre aflame, used the opportunity to knock it to the ground completely and leap onto it, sword gleaming in the fading sunlight as he buried the blade deep into the monster’s chest and tore its heart open. It cried out and twitched for a moment before it stopped breathing. They might have rejoiced if there weren’t more darkspawn to clear out before they had a moment to rest.

It seemed only once Garrett’s shining armor and shield was coated in a fine layer of poisonous blood that they found a moment’s respite and both he and Bethany ran to mother’s side. She was cradling what was left of Carver’s head, having already closed his eyes, weeping about the loss of her baby boy. “How could you let him charge off like that?” She snapped at Garrett in her grief, “He was your baby brother!” He said nothing in reply to that, just rested his hand on Carver’s chest and commended Carver’s soul to the Maker. He was not a priest but he and Wesley were the closest people to priests out here on the battlefield.

They had to press on though. Bethany reminded mother of that as they got to their feet and the monsters started appearing again. Already winded, Garrett was not sure how much longer he would hold up under this assault. His body felt numb and weak. His shoulder burned from where the arrow had gotten through. But his duty was to protect the faithful and he would not abandon his duty when so many relied on him to fulfill it. 

So he fought hard, ignoring the blades that cut so sharply into the chainmail that covered his unprotected back. The flare of Bethany’s magic sent shivers down his spine as all magic did but he ignored it. His shield took another heavy blow and he was nearly brought to his knees with it. This was it. He was going to fall here just like Carver. He was going to fail Bethany and mother just as he had broken father’s heart so long ago when he had first joined the Order as a boy. “Maker forgive me,” he muttered to himself. He was certain no one else he knew or lived for in this world could or would do so.

But then a roar broke everyone from their thoughts and everyone, human and darkspawn, looked up at the source. A high dragon, magnificent in her appearance stood tall and proud as she looked over the intruders in her domain. She puffed up her chest and breathed dragon’s fire upon the darkspawn who dared taint her lands with their filth, flying through those that lived to pick up and throw around those that remained. Her mighty tail threw knocked more away to their deaths into stones or ruined trees far away and her claws crushed more as she picked them up and squeezed just a little too hard. It was only once all the darkspawn were gone that she looked at the men and was consumed with a bright light that made all of them look away. A moment later the dragon was gone and in its place an old, white haired woman with brilliant yellow eyes and leather armor not unlike the scales of the dragon she had once been.

Garrett knew better than to draw his blade against such a powerful mage and sheathed it while Aveline helped her husband sit nearby. Bethany drew the woman’s attention while Garrett stayed close to mother just in case. Mother’s hand on his arm while she hid slightly behind him was proof enough that he was where he needed to be. She had seen enough horrors today and with Carver’s death so recent… he would stay close if only to keep her mind at ease. 

“It used to be we never got visitors to the Wilds,” the woman said with a smirk, “Now it seems they come in hordes.”

He knew right then who she was. He was very glad he hadn’t thought to provoke her. As exhausted as he was he wouldn’t have been able to stand a chance against her.  
Bethany spoke to the Witch, at once grateful and curious as if the woman hadn’t just shifted from a high dragon. Aveline was focused on her husband whom was deteriorating fast. His hacking cough was bad and the way his blood seemed to turn black as it crept up his face… the man wouldn’t last much longer. The Corruption was unforgiving and agonizing. More than a few soldiers and hounds had suffered its effects sometimes for days, even a few weeks before they were mercifully put out of their misery. Either way they could not travel much further with Ser Wesley… even if he could manage to get to his feet.

The Witch knew it too. She offered to take them to Gwaren in exchange for a simple delivery of a trinket. Bethany had readily agreed but the Witch would not take them anywhere until Wesley was tended to. “What has been done to your man is in his blood already.”

“You lie!”

“She’s right Aveline…I can feel the Corruption inside me…”

Bethany had tried to think of something, anything that could help him but there was nothing. Garrett left his mother’s side to kneel by his Brother Templar’s side. It was heartbreaking to hear the man ask his wife of all people to end his life, to take away the pain before it took hold and stole what peace he still knew. She hesitated, as any good wife would, so Garrett drew his own blade and offered to take her place. “I will ease his suffering,” he said to her quietly, not saying that he’d do it so she wouldn’t have to. 

Aveline took the blade from his hand before he could move, determined to do this for the man she loved and Garrett took the opportunity instead to give the man his last rites. The blade was pressed into his armor at a weakened point and shoved into his body. Even as prepared as he was Ser Wesley still let out a faint cry of pain and struggled to breathe for only a moment before he let go of this world. Garrett moved his hands so they rested peacefully in his lap while Aveline stood. “Without an end, there can be no peace,” the Witch said. How true it was.

The Witch shifted shape again into the form of the dragon and sat down so that their group could climb onto her massive back. Garrett helped mother as best he could before he climbed on himself, making sure to be careful of the scratch of his weapons or armor on the scales. If he did hurt their mount she didn’t make note of it and once they were settled she carefully stood and spread her massive leathery wings once more. Garrett could honestly say he had never flown before and once they were in the air, high above the hoard of darkspawn and the scattered villages on their way to their destination, he promised himself it wasn’t something he was ever going to do again. He had never liked heights before. Now he really didn’t like them. 

The Witch of the Wilds landed less than half a day’s walk from Gwaren, allowing them to climb down before taking off again. She said nothing, merely flew back in the direction from whence she came and the little party gathered themselves again, checking their supplies and preparing for the journey into the city. Garrett quickly downed one of the vials of lyrium he had brought with him, his body aching from the lack of it, and replaced the glass philter in his pouch before rejoining their party. He considered telling his mother and sister that he wouldn’t be going with them to Kirkwall now but it seemed cruel to do so with Carver’s death so fresh in her mind. 

Instead he mentally calculated how far the coin he had with him could go for the four of them. It wasn’t much, just a stipend for housing and food that he hadn’t spent much of on his way to Ostagar, but it should be enough for a decent meal and lodging for the night. Whatever was left he planned on giving to them to pay for their passage to Kirkwall. With so many fleeing the Blight, he was fairly certain it would cost them a pretty penny… certainly more than they had managed to grab when the darkspawn descended upon the village.  
The trip didn’t take long and was in silence for the most part, each member of their little party trying to sort through their emotions and memories now that they were safe enough to not have to run and fight for their lives. The city itself was swollen with people, the rich and the poor, every one of them selling or bartering precious belongings for the coin to leave this Blighted place. At least Garrett’s status as a Templar had garnered them some favor because they found a place to eat and a small room to share. 

Out of respect for the women, Garrett went to the Chantry to complete his evening prayers after the meal and report to the Knight Lieutenant there both what had happened in Lothering and that –of course- he was still alive and ready to serve. The lieutenant looked more than happy to have another knight around to help out and told him to report in the morning. “With so many trying to leave the country, we are stretched thin watching the ships for fleeing apostates and maintaining our regular duties. We need every knight we can find.”

By the time he got back, Aveline and Bethany were just settling down and mother was already asleep. Garrett racked his armor carefully then went to wash off the day’s grime before returning to finally rest. The wound in his shoulder, tended to by Bethany while Aveline took a moment to compose herself, was going to scar but was clean otherwise. The muscles still ached. His entire body ached and if he had the time and the coin he might have thought to indulge in a warm bath. But there were more important things to spend his coin on… and people who were waiting for his return to sleep properly.

So he washed quickly but thoroughly and returned to the rented room where the only light in it now was one of Bethany’s softly glowing wisps floating about. Everyone was exhausted but the fact that she took the effort to conjure it so he could see as he lay down on the small bundle of blankets he was going to use as a bed on the floor warmed his heart. “Thank you, Bethany,” he whispered as he settled into place, “Good night.” He knew better than to wish her pleasant dreams. The best any of them could hope for tonight was a dreamless sleep. Her hum in reply meant that she was well on her way there. Soon the wisp went out and in the deep darkness of the night, with the sounds of what was left of his family still alive and breathing peacefully, Garrett fell asleep.

Morning came. A small portion of Garrett’s remaining coin went to breakfast before the group of them searched for a ship to Kirkwall. There was one leaving and as Garrett predicted the price was fairly high. The remains of his coin was just enough to buy the three women passage. Thankfully mother held her tongue until the sailor was gone before she turned to unleash her fury on him. “What do you think you’re doing?” she snapped, “We go together or not at all!”

“Mother…”

“Don’t you ‘mother’ me!”

“Leandra Hawke,” Garrett emphasized, this time not letting her speak, “I am a Knight of the Order. I made a vow to serve the Maker and Andraste above all others. I cannot leave, not with the darkspawn threatening Ferelden. The Order has need of me here. The people have need of me. I cannot leave them to these embodiments of mankind’s sin.”

He saw tears in her eyes, tears of anger and frustration and he wished there was something he could do about it. He tried to be a good son, did all that he could to make her proud even within the Order, but he was a man of his word and he could not bring himself to turn his back on his vows, even for her. Instead of hitting him, like he expected her to, mother grabbed his face in her hands and forced him to look her in her hazel eyes. Bethany had eyes like their mother’s. Garrett had their father’s bright lyrium blue. “You take care of yourself,” she hissed, “Promise me that. Promise me that when all this is over you will write if you cannot take leave to come see us.”

“I promise,” he said, knowing that it was one he could not guarantee. Even before the darkspawn had come into the picture his life was not his own. His sword, shield and very soul belonged to the Maker to do with what He would. But this was his mother he was speaking to. This was the woman who had just lost one son to the darkspawn and now the other was going to face them again. He could not stand the thought of being cruel enough to her as to tell her the truth right now, especially when it was clear she was barely holding herself together.

Her smile was watery as she pulled him down into the tightest hug she could manage with his armor. When she was done he turned away quickly as if she didn’t want him to see her cry. Bethany was honestly not much better off than mother was. “You take care of her,” he said to his sister quietly, even as he squeezed her hands gently in his, “mother will need your strength now more than ever to get through this.”

“And you take care of yourself, brother. If you should fall I’m not sure I’ll be able to hold her together all by myself.”

“I will do all I can, Bethany.”

“Good.”

“Andraste be with you, Bethany, and may the Maker turn His gaze on you.”

She smiled for him and repeated the saying back, hugging him just as fiercely as mother did before she turned away. Aveline, who had stayed with them all this time, said nothing to him other than to say she would watch over them as best she could for a time. “This is a debt I intend to repay, Ser Hawke,” she said with that curt tone of hers that he had started to realize was just the way she naturally spoke, “and not one I take lightly.”

“Keep them safe into the city, Lady Vallen, and I will consider it repaid.”

She offered him her hand, which he shook as he would any peer, and watched as his family and Aveline walked away to purchase what few supplies they could with their own coin before they boarded the ship. Garrett sighed and made his way back to the Chantry of Gwaren to report in and take on his new duties for the time being. By his estimation, it would take them two weeks or so to reach Kirkwall, perhaps some time more to actually enter the city and settle in provided the estate was still intact. He doubted the war would be over by then but he would try to write them when he could if only to keep their minds at ease. 

A few months later, when the newly crowned King of Ferelden called, the Templar Order assigned the knights with combat experience to march on the Order’s behalf. With his shield newly made and his sword sharpened and strong, Knight Corporal Garrett Hawke proudly marched into the Battle of Denerim.


	2. Returning to Duty (of Faith and Family)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ser Garrett is assigned to Kirkwall, reports to the Knight Commander and reunites with Bethany after the Fifth Blight.

The war lasted nearly a full year and in that time Ser Garrett Hawke had, by some miracle, escaped every battle he faced with only bruises and a few small scars to show for it. He never contracted the Blight, despite liberally being doused in the poisonous blood, and when the archdemon was defeated and the darkspawn retreated back from whence they came, it had been all he could do to stay on his feet and rally what men were left to kill off as many stragglers as they could. The civilians that had survived the initial onslaught praised the Maker for their lives while the knights and soldiers that remained began the sad task of gathering and identifying the dead. Many leaders were commended, soldiers who went above and beyond the call of duty. The one that had gathered their army, the one called the Hero of Ferelden, had not survived but those that served with him honored him nonetheless.

It was only a couple of months after the battle that Garrett was approached by the Knight Commander he served under and was asked if he would like to decide his own posting. “It is the least the Order can do for you since your assigned Chantry is no longer standing.” He hadn’t thought for more than a moment before he gave his answer; Kirkwall. The commander had been surprised by it, even a bit confused, but allowed it none the less. Within three months, Garrett had his transfer papers in hand and was boarding a ship for the Free Marches across the Waking Sea. At last, he had thought, he would see his family again.

The trip was uneventful but when he arrived in the City of Chains and stepped off the boat into the Gallows for the first time, the only thing Garrett Hawke could think of was that the rumors about Knight Commander Meredith were true. Most Circles of Magi looked like prisons from what he understood, spiraling towers of some kind far removed from the mainland to prevent mages from escaping into the world. But the Gallows could not have been anything other than a prison and it showed. There were too many gates waiting to be barred, too many statues of thin men in despair. It was all too easy to see these floors soaked with blood and covered in the bodies of the innocent. 

Thankfully he was able to find his way to the Knight Commander’s office fairly easily, slipping passed many of his brothers without getting a second glance thanks to the fact his armor was shined and the dents had been hammered out before he arrived. His gambeson was new as the old one was too badly stained to be of any use in his new posting and his sword and shield had been replaced as well. Good thing too as his sword had all but shattered after he struck the last darkspawn down. 

Knight Commander Meredith, when he did see her at last face to face, was at once everything and nothing like he expected. He saw hubris in the way she dressed, her armor based off the design of Andraste’s, but she was a knight commander and she held her authority with both an air of command and clearly a few more years of experience than she wanted to admit. He saw lines on her face when she spoke to him, her words sharp and not allowing room for argument. This was not someone who should have been entrusted with the care and safety of mages, this was someone who should have been out hunting the maleficarum of the world.

She asked for his papers and he handed them to her, waiting for her verdict on his assignment. In a city as large as Kirkwall he could be assigned to several different duties. Surely there was no shortage of knights but there were far more apostates than they could hope to find without backlash from the innocent. He hoped he would not be assigned as a Hunter. He could not allow his family ties to become known as they would be if he was assigned to hunt down his sister. 

“It says here that you served in rural Chantries primarily.”

“Yes, Commander.”

“But were sent to Ostagar to oversee the mages called by the King. Why is that?”

“The knights originally sent with the mages were weary from their journey by the time they arrived in Lothering. I offered to trade places with one of them so he could rest and watch the Lothering Chantry in my stead. My knight lieutenant accepted my offer and so I went with the group to the battlefront.”

“And what had been your experience with mages before that point?”

“Lothering is a small village on the edge of the Koccari Wilds. The Brothers of my Rite have escorted many a missionary into the Wilds to bring the Chant of Light to the Chasind, many of whom are apostates if not maleficarum.” He would not mention the Witch of the Wilds and her willingness to aid his family in their time of need. He didn’t want to imagine the Knight Commander’s reaction to such news. 

“And how did you deal with them?”

“They could not heed the words of Andraste if they did not know of Andraste and the Maker. Unless they proved a threat or were shown to practice blood magic, I did not engage them. Such would undermine the missionary’s work.”

This did not seem to impress her but Garrett imagined very little would. It was against his vows to lie to her. What she did with the information was up to her. 

“You are ill suited for work as a Hunter in this city, Ser Hawke, as we treat all apostates here was maleficarum unless it is proven otherwise. Our charges in the Circle are carefully monitored as they are prone to underhanded and even dangerous means of evading the rules.”

“Then I am to be assigned to the Chantry.”

“It would seem the best fit. Your experience will be of use there as Grand Cleric Elthina often sends her Sisters to our poorer districts to aid the needy.” And with so many poor in Kirkwall with the influx of refugees he imagined such a mission was just as dangerous as being and escort into the Wilds had been.

“As you command.”

Meredith sat at her desk and filled out a form she had pulled out when he first walked into her office, her writing a harsh scrawl on the page as if she was trying to carve the words rather than write them. “Bring these orders with you when you report to the Knight Lieutenant in the morning. In the meantime see the quartermaster. He will make sure your equipment is up to standard and assign you housing for the time being.”

“Yes Knight Commander.”

She handed him his orders and with the closest he believed she got to sincerity said “Welcome to the Rite of Kirkwall, Ser Hawke.” He saluted her in response and turned on his heel to go find the quartermaster she mentioned. As most of his equipment was in good condition he couldn’t imagine it would take overly long and with the time remaining he intended to wander about Kirkwall, perhaps in his gambeson and chainmail only, to familiarize himself with the city. It would be safer if he didn’t make contact with his family just yet. Perhaps when he got settled into the Chantry? The last he had written them had been to let them know that he had survived the Battle of Denerim safe and sound and that he had finally been able to see to a proper service for Carver after all this time. He hadn’t gotten a reply back by the time he left. He can’t imagine that mother would be happy to see him without hearing word that he was coming to Kirkwall first.

The quartermaster, as it turned out, was one of the Tranquil of the Circle of Magi who was quick and efficient about inspecting his gear and equipment. He took everything that had a symbol of Ferelden on it to replace those items with Kirkwall’s seal, as was standard when transferring to a new city, though he did leave Garrett with his sword of mercy pendant, even if it was not standard dress for the Templars in the city. Perhaps he could sense some attachment to it? Or believed a man who had seen war like he had needed something to keep his piece of mind? The reason mattered little. What mattered more was the way the man handed him a phial with exactly one day’s dosage of lyrium.

“The Knight Commander wants to avoid dependency. Lyrium is rationed carefully to avoid unwanted complications.”

Well, that explained a few things but Garrett wasn’t sure this was the solution. Never the less he took the dose and returned the phial to the quartermaster before he gathered his things and went to go find the room he was assigned. Apparently he was to share his cell with a man named Ser Thrask, an older but dedicated knight of the Circle. Interesting to not keep Chantry knights together but perhaps there hadn’t been room? At least he had a place to sleep and properly rack his armor for once. He had to get the salt water of the Waking Sea off the armor and shield before it began to rust. His sword at least had been protected in its sheath, thankfully. 

The room was smaller than expected but the size mattered less than he thought it would when it was clear there was just enough room for two men. Against the walls adjacent to the door were small beds for one person and at the foot of each was a footlocker they were to use to keep their things. Between the beds were a pair of nightstands just underneath a narrow window that showed the view over the Gallow’s training yard. Next to the door on each side was a pair of armor racks, one for the heavy plate and one for the chainmail. Likely there was space underneath the bed for anything else he needed space for. It was rather more like the monastery he trained in than any of his subsequent assignments.

After finding a spot to set his shield and sword, Garrett racked his armor and chainmail and found a place to put his gambeson so he could wash it later before the morning came. He took his time putting everything else he had brought with him away and was surprised to find in the footlocker another gambeson to wear, some chantry styled robes (though a little shorter than what the priests wore to distinguish him as a Templar) and a small booklet of the rules of the Order unique to the Kirkwall Rite. He moved the papers aside as he continued to put his things away, making sure to grab a set of the robes to take with him as he planned to go bathe as soon as he was done here. It didn’t take long and before he knew it he was already on his way back to his room, freshly clean and shaved, in the robes he was issued to leave his things and gather the bare minimum of what he needed to explore the city proper.

He hadn’t expected to run into Ser Thrask, also freshly changed into his set of the robes when he walked in. “Ah, you must be Ser Garrett,” the man said, his voice kind and rather fatherly for someone who served under Meredith, “A pleasure to meet you. I am Ser Thrask. It appears we are roommates.”

Garrett wasn’t sure if the man was stating the obvious because he was nervous or it was just a habit of his. “Pleasure to meet you, Ser Thrask. I am Ser Garrett Hawke, recently of Ferelden.”

Thin eyebrows shot up at his name. “Hawke? Not a relative of Bethany Hawke?”

Garrett froze where he had been putting his things away though he did not turn to face the man. “I am her elder brother. What of it?”

“She has helped me with a personal matter recently. Your sister is a kind soul, Ser Garrett. You must be very proud of her.”

And he was but he wasn’t going to shout it from the rooftops. “She is a gentler soul than anyone in her shoes has a right to be.” No one who saw the horrors of war like she had, even to the small extent of their trip from Lothering to Gwaren, could hope to remain the same as they were. Garrett was just glad Bethany had retained her gentleness after spending so long in the City of Chains, thankfully still free. How she managed it was something he would have to learn about later. Perhaps he could speak to mother after the Chantry services she attended. Maybe she would know.

“Are you headed into the city then?”

“I am planning on it.”

“I could so with a walk myself. It is always best in this city to not travel alone. It is easy to get lost.”

Garrett was fairly certain that wasn’t all there was to the offer but if Ser Thrask had other motivations, it was too early in their relationship to tell what they were. Instead he accepted the offer of companionship and once everything was tucked away safely, they made their way to the ferry to take them to the city proper. As ominous as the Gallows looked, Garrett had to admit the city looked just as menacing. Perhaps the whole place as meant to be threatening?

As they walked toward the steps that would take them to Lowtown, Garrett was surprised to see a creature he had never seen before. It was huge, clearly male, but with intelligent eyes and carried himself with the pride of a soldier. Perhaps that was his function? But if so why was he there, wearing breeches and war paint, guarding a wooden gate? The horns on the soldier were reminiscent of some of the darkspawn Garrett had faced before. Perhaps the women of this race were used to breed ogres? It was a brutal fate to befall any woman but if the women were the same size as the men… perhaps it was no surprise that their darkspawn offspring were so monstrous.

“Who are they?” Garrett asked his companion as they climbed the steps, well out of earshot of the soldier, “or rather what are they?”

“You haven’t heard of the Qunari?”

Qunari? “Can’t say I have. I served in Ferelden remember and spent most of my service with the missionaries bringing the Chant to the Chasind.”

Garrett paid close attention while Ser Thrask explained the Qunari to him, including their religion and the widely held reason the majority of the people believed that they were still amongst the people of Kirkwall. Yet even though he was focused on his companion’s words, Garrett still watched the crowd around them go about their business. A Templar is meant to be always vigilant of those around him, especially when not in his own quarters. It’s the only reason why he saw Bethany walk through the crowd, a dwarf, Lady Aveline and a young man who looked rough around the edges following behind after her. She wore her robes blatantly, her staff glimmering in the sun as did the staff of the man who followed her. The dwarf Garrett could have cared less about, his crossbow obvious resting comfortably on his back and he knew Aveline was not a threat the moment he recognized her armor as that of the guard.

When Bethany and her companions slipped into the Hanged Man tavern, Garrett told Ser Thrask he saw someone he recognized, which was true, slip into the tavern and wanted to speak with them. “I saw her last just before the Battle of Ostagar,” he explained, “and had no idea she survived.” The way the man smirked under his moustache was a knowing one that Garrett thought father might have shown him when he first ‘discovered’ men but didn’t question him further. “The last ferry to the Gallows leaves at ten o’clock,” Ser Thrask replied, “Do not miss it.”

Garrett nodded, judging by the position of the sun that he had a few hours. “Thank you. I’ll see you tonight.”

The tavern, when Garrett stepped inside was not that different from any tavern he had stepped into before though he did get a few more wary stares than he did when he was in Ferelden. What had the Order done to be so distrusted in Kirkwall? Regardless he purchased a flask of what was no doubt terrible ale from the bartender and turned to find the party he had seen walk in. Bethany was easy enough to find, one of only two women in the place without a broken smile or a haunted look in her eye. She was leaning close to the other mage, whispering something and giggling while Aveline rolled her eyes and the dwarf looked amused. There was a deck of cards on the table but what they were playing he had no idea. Wicked Grace maybe? He had never learned card games.

Taking a sip from his drink and finding it truly awful but exactly what he expected, Garrett wound his way through the people gathered to gently tap Bethany on the shoulder. “Well,” he said playfully, “Can’t say I expected to find you here of all places. Mother would have a fit if she knew I think.”

Bethany turned sharply in her seat and for a moment looked confused before recognition dawned on her. “Garrett?”

“In the flesh.”

It was all he could do to brace himself for her to leap into his arms and squeeze him so tight he could feel his ribs creak under the force of her hug. He gasped but gladly hugged her back –though not as tightly as he knew he could easily break her if he wasn’t careful. Her laughter sounded bright in his ear though her tears wetting the collar of his robes bothered him a little. He ran his fingers through her black curls to soothe her just a bit. He could vaguely remember doing something like this for her when they were children. He wondered if it still worked. 

After a little while, she let him go. “Maker’s breath, Garrett! When did you get to Kirkwall? Why didn’t you send word? Mother never said anything.”

“I never told mother. I just arrived today. The transfer is official.”

A fleeting look of uncertainty worried Garrett. He sighed and caught her hands in his. “Don’t worry, Bethany. Family comes before those rules.” So long as she proved harmless he would let her have her freedom. He could not, however, say what the others of the Order would do. “Now, it seems you’ve made some friends since coming here. Who are your companions?”

The abrupt change in topic wasn’t his best transition but he didn’t think lingering on the implications of his words, here of all places, would do either of them any good. As it was Bethany accepted the offered change and guided Garrett to an open seat at their little table. “Of course you remember Aveline right?” Bethany said first once she had retaken her seat, “She’s a guardsman now for Kirkwall.”

“Glad to see you’re doing well enough for yourself Aveline.”

“Well enough I suppose,” Aveline replied gruffly though her seemed amused to see him too, “I see the war left you no worse for wear.”

“Had to be reissued everything before I got here but came out unharmed in the end.” Physically at least.

Bethany reclaimed his attention when she motioned to her dwarven friend who stood from his chair and bowed with a flourish when she introduced him “This is Varric Tethras.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Messere. Gotta say, I didn’t expect Sunshine to know a Templar.”

A smooth-talker, eh? What kind of mess would this dwarf end up dragging Bethany into? And why was she called sunshine? He’d have to contemplate these questions further later, when he wasn’t been scrutinized like an insect under a clear glass. “I’m sure there’s much about Bethany you haven’t learned about yet, Master Tethras.” And things it was his duty as her older brother to make sure he never learned about without going through the proper channels.

“And this is Anders. He was a Grey Warden in Ferelden.”

A Warden? Somehow he didn’t look like one and there was something about the mage that seemed off. He wore no mark of the Circle but clearly had a tight control over his magic. Either he was like Bethany and had been raised by another mage into his power or he was a Circle mage once upon a time and still held close to his teachings. Yet if Bethany trusted him he must have done something to earn her trust. She –hopefully- wasn’t foolish enough to draw more unwanted attention by walking with another apostate if he wasn’t in control or worthy of the trouble.

He offered the man his hand to shake and was not surprised when Anders didn’t reach for it. “It is a pleasure to meet you Warden Anders.” 

“Former Warden now.”

Garrett knew he would have to watch himself around this one.

“Everyone, this is my brother, Ser Garrett Hawke, Knight of the Order recently out of Ferelden.” 

He could already feel the tension building a bit within the party, well other than Aveline, so relaxed into his seat and said “Don’t worry about me. I have been assigned Chantry duties, not Hunting.” Meaning it was not by his hand that they would face charges for harboring or being apostates. “Provided you avoid fighting in the Chantry itself, you have no reason to be wary of me.”

“And you expect us to take your word for it?” snapped Anders, his hand twitching and something about his aura changing slightly. It made Garrett’s hair stand on end so he sat up a little straighter in his chair.

“I do, Warden. It is a sin to lie and an affront to the Maker.”

Bethany soothed the man with a hand on his shoulder and some quiet words in his ear but the distrust and outright hatred didn’t abate completely. How she was able to do it, Garrett wasn’t sure but the fact that she could told him more about their relationship than he felt comfortable with. When he was done here he would have to go speak to mother about his presence here and ask what she knew of Bethany and this Anders. Garrett forced himself to relax in his chair again as he faced the rest of their little group. “Now, what say you we discuss something else for a bit? I don’t have much time before I must return to the barracks.”

For the next hour or so, by his estimate, Garrett figured out how to play cards with the small group and caught up on the details of Aveline and Bethany’s lives since they arrived in Kirkwall. Mother, as it turned out, was doing alright though they lived not far in Lowtown with Uncle Gamlen Amell, the last surviving member of the Amell line. She explained how the family fortune was all used up by the time they arrived and their home sold to slavers long before they arrived. She and her friends had retrieved the Will left behind by their grandparents and while mother gathered influence to meet with the Viscount, Bethany was gathering coin for some scheme of hers to get rich. What it was she wouldn’t say but by the time Garrett left, he began to feel uneasy about it.


	3. Mother, Brother and Sister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Ser Garrett is distracted by Brother Sebastian, Leandra Hawke is less than pleased she wasn't informed of her son's transfer to Kirkwall and things, it seems, have changed between Garrett and Bethany... though not necessarily for the better.

The duties Ser Garrett was assigned at the Chantry were not particularly difficult. He was told he had to wear his helmet to protect his identity from the apostates who would come to pray (which he wanted to argue were not technically apostates then) and while he answered to the Knight Lieutenant, he was to heed the orders of the clerics just as readily unless there was a conflicting order. Compared to the priests he used to escort into the Koccari Wilds, most of which were men, the women here seemed vain and gossipy as if they stood amongst nobles rather than simple Sisters in service to the Maker. Many wore kohl and painted their lips, something the Sisters in Ferelden never did though he wasn’t sure if that was because they were forbidden from it or they simply saw no purpose to it. Combined with their fitted robes, complete with corsets and Garrett had never been more pleased with the fact that he wore a helmet that hid his face so easily. 

Not that he was staring at the Sisters. His tastes had never run toward women and he thanked the Maker for that every day. No, instead he was surprised and a little disgusted by the vanity and pride he saw in so many of these women who were meant to be humble and simple. Most of the older Sisters and Mothers, those whose beauty had faded with time and hair had gone grey seemed to understand that edict better than the younger Sisters. Perhaps it was something about this city? Ugh. He would ever understand women no matter which country he found himself in.

Unlike the Chantry in Lothering, though, Garrett found that there were few Brothers who walked these hallowed halls and those that did were mostly dressed in traveling garb rather than the garb of the priesthood. Most were scholars it seemed, resting before they continued on their journey to study whatever it was they were studying, and older men who were still strong enough to continue their journey but not quite young enough still to endure the hardships of the road with ease. There was only one Brother that seemed to be totally different from the others though that may have been because unlike most priests, he did not dress either in travel garb or in the robes that seemed awkward on a man.

Brother Sebastian Vael had not always been a priest apparently. Word was that he was a son of the noble family of Starkhaven but was the third son and had no place in the royal line. His youthful wildness had brought his family shame so they sent him to the Chantry to repent and find new purpose with the Maker. His noble blood showed in the way he carried himself, in the articulate and clear way he spoke despite the brogue of his native accent. Yet something had happened recently, something Garrett had not been privy to and instead of the robes he once wore he wore he donned armor of white and gold with a heavy chainmail gambeson underneath. His bow was handsome and strong looking but his quiver carried only a few arrows as if it was just for show.

While Garrett was not distracted by the Sisters, perhaps it was telling that he was distracted by the prince with his swept back auburn hair, brilliant blue eyes and an accent that never failed to send shivers down his spine. It took all he had when Brother Sebastian had been the one to perform the services to focus on his words and the Chant he sang rather than the desires that stirred within. He knew he would have to pray on his own that evening for forgiveness for his sin of lust and be wary of desire demons that would take on the man’s form should he meet them. That was something the Order never taught that Garrett had always believed they should. Mastering one’s desire was healthier than denying it all together, especially when faced with demons who sought to turn it against their victim.

Thankfully Brother Sebastian was nowhere near Garrett’s post when the sermon for the weekend ended and those that had congregated started to disburse. There had been few apostates gathered that he could tell, most of them actually being subtle and dressing like normal civilians rather than the robes most of them seemed to prefer wearing. None of them were threatening and he even saw Bethany and mother amongst the crowd. He wanted to say something to let them know that he was there but that would defeat the purpose of the helmet so he stayed quiet and merely watched them. 

Mother, it seemed, looked tired and weighed down by the world. Her clothes looked worn and ragged as if she had only a few dresses that she had to keep cleaning harshly to be rid of the stains. Bethany’s clothes looked slightly better off though that may have been because, from what he had seen in the tavern, she had taken to wearing different robes when she stepped out of their home into combat than her regular clothes. Neither of them looked particularly well off but they were eating at least. He saw a little bit of weight loss on both their faces but it wasn’t much. Life a farm was difficult but rewarding in its way. Neither had had much fat to lose by the time they got to Kirkwall.

Garrett considered sending them some of his stipend since the Order was giving him lodging, clothing and food but how would he get it to them? Leaving it at the door would get it stolen. Handing it to them would give away that they not only knew a Templar but that he was handing them coin. He knew the people of Kirkwall already didn’t like Fereldens. He wouldn’t give them any more ammunition to dislike his family than they already had. 

But apparently a mother’s intuition could not be thwarted by something like a helmet. Bethany said something to her quietly and within a few moments of looking around somehow her eyes met his through the helmet. The relief he saw there made him feel guilty for not writing to her sooner. It had been weeks since she had heard from him. He barely had time to brace himself before she all but ran up to him and smacked him on the breastplate just hard enough that he could feel the ring of the impact. He knew the other knights would mock him for this later but right at this moment he could have cared less. 

“Garrett Malcolm Hawke,” she hissed as only a mother could, “how dare you not tell me of your transfer!”

“I would have, mother, once I was properly settled and-”

“I hadn’t heard from you for a few months?”

“No, you know that’s not true…”

“Do I?”

He heard the desperation in her voice, the memory of how Carver died clearly still weighing heavily on her even now. Even with the Blight over, he was still a Knight of the Order. There were any number of ways he could die for the Chantry even now and it was unlikely the Order would have hunted her down if he had. He relaxed his stance and very carefully –as he was mindful of the armor he still wore- pulled her into a hug. “I am sorry mother. I didn’t mean to worry you. I had thought to take the time to get settled before I let you know I was here.” And to properly learn what was safe and not safe to write to her about while under Knight Commander Meredith’s watchful eye. Even the Knights were watched.

She squeezed him as best she could before she let him go and he could see her wanting to remove the helmet to better take a look at him. He shook his head minutely to let her know she could not and took a step back to properly compose himself again. She understood the gesture for what it was then looked sheepish for how she had all but given away who he was to anyone who was paying attention. “Listen, Garrett, don’t be a stranger. We may not have what we did in Ferelden but we’re doing alright here. Come by for dinner sometime. You haven’t met your Uncle Gamlen have you?”

“I have not.”

“Then it’s settled. Provided you can get leave, you’re going to have dinner with us tomorrow night.”

Tomorrow night? Well at least that was more advanced notice than tonight. She must have watched the Templars of the city for a long time to know that most were not in the city unless they were Hunting after the sun had set. He would have to look into who to speak to for permission to leave the Gallows. Perhaps the Knight Captain? He doubted the Lieutenant he served under had control over such things. He seemed to be focused primarily on his duty as the leader of the Guardians of the Faith as they were called within the Order. 

“I will do what I can,” he promised and that seemed to be enough.

“Good. I will see you tomorrow night then.” She turned on her heel to collect Bethany and walk out of the Chantry and as he watched her go he couldn’t help but think that while he served in the Order he had almost missed having his mother around making such demands of him. Perhaps in Kirkwall he didn’t have to be as separate from her as he had been in Lothering since father nor Carver, Maker bless their souls, were around to pick fights with him over his vocation.

“It is good to see that some of you have not forgotten your family.”

Garrett almost jumped at the sound of a voice next to him and turned just enough to see Grand Cleric Elthina next to him, her smile beatific and amused at once. “I- Pardon, Your Grace?”

“Many of the Order abandon their family for the Maker and forget for whom they chose to serve. The Maker would not want you to forget from where you came from as much as He would not want you to forget the vows you made to Him and Andraste.”

The knight wasn’t sure what to make of her words. As wise as she was known to be, wisdom was rarely so straightforward as to be clearly understood. Did she too know of Bethany’s magic? Was she aware of the apostates that came to her Chantry, who knelt at Andraste’s feet and prayed just as anyone else did? It seemed highly unlikely but perhaps not entirely impossible.

Yet as he thanked her for her words, he couldn’t stop turning them over in his mind. With the missionary work he had never been called on to hunt someone like his sister. But in a city like this, with Meredith being as strict as she was with the control of magic he knew that if his ties were discovered it was possible he would be asked to decide between the Order and his family. If he was forced to make that choice, which would he choose? It wouldn’t just be Bethany in the Gallows, harrowed and chained like a Circle mage. Mother would be arrested as well for harboring her and what would become of an older woman in such a prison? 

No. He would not turn on his family. They were devout Andrasteans, even if Bethany was not part of the Circle. They followed the Maker’s commandments, as spoken by Andraste, as closely as anyone else. As a defender of the faith it was his duty to protect to them from harm as much as it was his duty to watch Bethany closely for signs of corruption or weakness. Her companions on the other hand were fair game.

Perhaps that was why after his duties for the day were done and he could finally remove his heavy helm, Bethany pulled him aside on his way to the docks to return to the Gallows and tried to look as menacing as possible without flashing her magic. It bothered Garrett that she felt the need to threaten him. He may have been a Templar but surely there was no real reason for her to think he’d betray her to the Order if he hadn’t already. Besides, after the horrors of war he had been called on to witness her posturing barely registered as intimidating.

“What can I do for you, sister?”

“You will leave me and mother alone. You will not speak to me in public again. You will not seek out or make contact with my friends.”

Well this was… certainly nothing like his sister had been in Lothering. “You think I will bring the wrath of the Order down upon you.”

“Meredith isn’t known for her mercy.”

“Neither is this city yet you and mother remain.”

Bethany snorted in disgust with him, most unladylike, and touched her hand to his breastplate, her hand sparking with barely contained magical electricity. In the metal armor, even without the helmet, it would burn through him quickly, the metal acting as a conduit until the power faded. He could only reduce the damage so much if she struck him now but he could not bring himself to gather the willpower needed to Silence her. To use his power against her was to admit she was a threat and to do that… the Order would demand she be brought in or executed. So he remained still, his hands open and way from his sides so she could see he was not reaching for weapon or shield. 

“I will not lose him to you blighted Templars,” she hissed, pressing her hand harder against him though she still held the magic in check, “I will not lose mother to the Order. Stay away from us or I will do what I have to in order to keep us all safe from that tyrant’s grasp.”

Tyrant? What had Meredith done to this city to warrant such venom from someone he had never seen harm a fly before the Blight? What had she seen in this city during their year apart that would drive her to kill for her freedom? And what she said, that she would do what she had to in order to protect _him_. 

Garrett watched her face closely now, searching for signs of the girl he knew, the woman before Kirkwall had shifted whatever it was inside of her to turn her into the apostate threatening him now. He feared blood magic. The Wardens, he had been told, were rife with it, using whatever means they had to –even forbidden ones- to stem the tide of the blights. Was the man who walked with her a maleficar? They were impossible to tell by sight but his distrust of the Order certainly seemed to point toward it.

Yet there were tales of so many mages enduring horrors in the Circles at the hands of his Brothers that perhaps the man had simply been broken by the Circle and his distrust rose from that? His accent was Ferelden. He had heard that Kinloch had called for the Rite of Annulment during the Blight. Perhaps he was a survivor of the purge? Or whatever had happened to make them call for the purge? Either way her determination to keep him from the Templar’s grasp was enough to make him wary yet she seemed of her own mind.

“I will do as I have always done, Bethany,” he said to her sternly, not flinching away nor leaning into the hand against his chest, “I will act as a Guardian of the Faith, protecting the faithful from those who would seek to do harm unto them, Andraste or the Maker. Provided you and your lover do not become a threat to the faithful, I will not have reason to hunt either of you. However, should you turn your gift on the people of Kirkwall and bring them to harm, the Order dictates that I must bring you to the Circle or execute you.”

The lightning sparked around her fingers for a moment more before she turned away in a huff, her combat robes (as he recognized them) swishing against her legs. She seemed to be contemplating his response so he stayed standing where he was as he added, “As your brother, I am worried for you Bethany. You are not the young lady I remember from Lothering. This city has changed you and not for the better.”

“What would you know of me from before, brother? We only spoke when we ran from the Blight after you joined the Order.”

“I wrote to mother. When I wasn’t with the priests I watched over our family from a distance, as was my duty. I did it so the others wouldn’t see what I knew to be true and they did not question it.”

“Maybe I just had to grow up, Garrett. Maybe who I am now is simply the woman the girl had to grow up to be.”

He sighed and let his hands relax at his side again though he did not move his hands to rest near the hilt of his sword as he might have before. “Maybe. But even so I am still your brother. If I can protect you from harm I will.”

She snorted but her posture relaxed minutely. He imagined he sounded like Carver did, or even father. He may not live with his family now nor be the scion of the house but, like the Grand Cleric urged him to remember, this is his family.

He considered his words carefully before he spoke again, knowing that if he was not cautious he could lose what rapport he had built. “I would like to meet Anders again,” he said slowly, “not in a group but perhaps just the three of us. If he is whom you have decided to love, then I would like to know him better.” He wanted to make sure the man who all but spat at him in the tavern had only Bethany’s best interests at heart. He owed that much to father and Carver.

She turned and looked at him suspiciously but he had nothing to hide. Let her search him all she wanted for his intentions toward her beloved. He already promised himself that on the day they were to meet he would not wear robes or carry any more than the minimal of weaponry. He was going to meet the man as Bethany’s brother and nothing more. 

Whatever Bethany saw she seemed to accept as the truth and he relaxed his posture. Good. Now they could move on. He would have offered to escort her home but got the feeling that she had other errands to run this evening and night that he was not privy to. So instead he bowed slightly, as was polite, and said “Good night Bethany. May the Maker watch over you in your endeavors tonight.”

“Good night Garrett.” 

Garrett turned on his heel quickly then to resume his path through Lowtown toward the docks and then the Gallows. If he was quick about it he would have time to shed his heavier plate before going to dinner. The Templars in the Gallows always ate separately from the mages in their charge. It was as if the Knight Commander wanted to reinforce the idea of imprisonment rather than just maintaining a certain distance between guardian and charges. And Bethany had said Meredith was a tyrant. Surely she would not have formed such a dark opinion of the woman without some form of evidence of her cruelty?

As Ser Garrett walked through the courtyard toward the knight’s barracks, he watched the people around him, unconsciously counting the number of shops and shopkeepers that bustled about. The few who were permitted to interact with the few visitors the Gallows received were either the most loyal of the mages or the Tranquil. At the moment it seemed there were more Tranquil than trusted mages but had that always been so? He would have to keep a closer eye on such things. Perhaps he could ask Ser Thrask and excuse it as the curiosity of a knight who had never served or roomed in a Circle before now (which was technically true.)

He did not expect to find a pair of knights in full armor, including helms, waiting outside the door to his cell, looking as if he were ready for a fight. Immediately he was wary. “Good evening, Brothers,” he said, their figures too large to be any of the female knights he had seen around the Gallows so far, “What can I do for you this fine evening?” His hand twitched at his side.

One of them, his features hidden behind his helmet grabbed the hilt of his blade as if to draw it on a moment’s notice. When Garrett had first started his training with the Order he had been told to never draw his blade on someone unless he intended to use it. Did these men get the same lesson? If so then this was certainly more serious than he thought… or they were just as wary of him as if he was a maleficar. He lifted his hands away from his weapon and shield, showing himself to be unarmed and calm.

“Knight Corporal Garrett Malcolm Hawke,” the one without his hand on the blade, “by order of Knight Commander Meredith you are under arrest for harboring and fraternizing with apostates.”

Harboring and… “Impossible. I live here in the barracks. I could not harbor anyone, much less an apostate.”

“You dispute the charges.”

“I do.”

“So you resist arrest?”

Ah. So that was what they were looking for. Leaving his hands where they were away from his weapon he got down on his knees carefully and folded his hands behind his head. They took his shield and sword, searched him for other weapons then removed his gauntlets and roughly bound his hands behind his back. A small crowd had gathered while this was going on and the knight that had kept his hand on his weapon helped Garrett get to his feet. “For what it’s worth,” the second knight said, “I am sorry about this.” 

Garrett held his head high as he was escorted away from his rooms toward where he assumed the dungeons were. It was unsurprising that the Gallows would have such a place but considering it was originally a prison where he was being lead probably originally had a more sinister purpose. If what Bethany implied was true, he would see firsthand the corruption of the Order under Knight Commander Meredith’s command. His sudden arrest without being permitted to explain himself were the actions of a paranoid woman. Even with the sudden influx of refugees more than a year ago, there was no real reason for this.

The ropes around his wrists were cut away as he was brought into small, dark cell he was brought to and one knight kept his hand on his blade while the other roughly stripped him of his plate armor, chainmail and even gambeson robes. When he was in nothing but his thin tunic, trousers and boots he was shoved to the ground and bound in shackles that chained him to the wall. “You will speak to Knight Commander Meredith in the morning when she comes to speak with you herself. It is suggested that you spend the night contemplating your vows, Ser Garrett, and how dedicated you are to the Order.”

The knights took his equipment with them when they left and the torch that was left lit in the hallway. Garrett sighed in the dark and shifted where he sat. Wonderful.


	4. Loyalty Comes First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ser Garrett is held for question about his association with mages and is handed a means to prove his loyalty to the Order is what he says it is... at a cost.
> 
> WARNING: This chapter contains mild references to torture/force drug withdrawal, character death (of a companion character you may like in the game), and guilt brought on by a heavily religious set of beliefs.

How long he remained in that dungeon under Knight Commander Meredith’s orders he wouldn’t know but he wasn’t left alone for long. His tunic was useless to him now, torn and bloodied as it was. The lashes had been heavy and painful as they tore open his back but the agony of having his shoulders dislocated then relocated several times over had distracted him from them. His ration of lyrium had dwindled. He could focus only on the pain because he knew that that was real. He could not distinguish hallucinations from reality anymore and the nightmares that came were both fantasies and memories at once. Perhaps if he was still of his own mind he would have noticed that what damage was being done was nothing permanent, a telling sign.

After a long time, the Knight Captain, a man perhaps a little older than Garrett but with eyes much older than they seemed to have any right to be, and the Knight Commander came down to his cell to speak to him. Garrett barely had the presence of mind to watch them as they came into his cell. The light of the torch reflected off the circlet Meredith wore, the glare of it somewhat hiding her face. Perhaps that was why she wore her armor the way she did? She resembled the statues of Andraste in this light. 

“Ser Garrett,” she said sternly though she avoided standing too close to him as if she feared he would lash out although he still wore the heavy chains that tethered him to the wall, “I trust you have had time to reflect upon your duty and your vows?”

“I have.”

“To the charges of harboring and fraternizing with apostates, how do you plea?”

“Not guilty.”

One of her blonde eyebrows rose but before she could say anything the Knight Captain spoke up. “Explain your plea.”

Garrett turned his head to watch the young man with the thick Ferelden accent. “I cannot harbor anyone when I live in the barracks in a shared room. Ask Ser Thrask. Search my things. You will find nothing that ties me into hiding an apostate.”

“What of fraternizing?”

“You mean Mistress Hawke? My sister with whom I had been pleading to turn herself into the Circle?”

“You did not arrest her.”

“That is not my function. I am a Guardian of the Faith. She did not threaten the faithful under my watch and I could only encourage her to heed Andraste’s words without evidence of her threat to the people.”

Someone slapped him hard with their gauntleted hand. He felt his mouth filling with blood and he spat it and a tooth out. It was not the worst pain he had endured here. “If you believe her a threat, dispatch the Hunters. I do not know where she makes her home or what evidence you have that suggests she is a threat.”

The knight that slapped him was neither the Knight Captain nor the Commander but before they could hit him again the Knight Captain stayed his hand. Garrett’s hands flexed where they were chained. Bolts of nerve pain shot down his arms. The last time his arms had been relocated hadn’t been done gently. He had been feeling the steady pain for hours. “My name is Ser Garrett Malcolm Hawke,” he muttered, closing his eyes to focus on the pain and his words, “Knight Corporal of the Templar Order of Kirkwall. Guardian of the Faith. I will not falter for I am a shield of the Faith and the Maker is my strength.”

The captain spoke to the commander for a moment but what they said Garrett couldn’t distinguish. Instead the shackles were removed and he was pulled roughly to his feet. It took a moment for him to focus on standing properly again but the one that held him up was mindful of that and gave him the time he needed. Where he was being led he wasn’t sure but it was out of the cell and away from the rooms where he had been lashed and put on the damned rack. He was almost blinded when his eyes met sunlight for the first time in too long. Was he finally believed? Was he free?

They took him to the infirmary and sat him where the mages sanctioned to heal the Order could take a look at him. The old woman who tended to him looked kind but tired. He wondered if she tended too many like him in the recent years or if it was something else. He let her move his arms as she wanted, hissing when the movement shifted one shoulder that had still been slightly out of place back into place again. Then came the cleansing solution over his still open lashes that were no doubt red and infected. He was glad when after she had thought them clean enough he felt the touch of her magic along his skin to close them. It was like a minty balm compared to hot angry pain.

When she was done with the lashes she pressed her hands to his shoulders and eased some healing magic into them before she carefully bound what her magic had been unable to heal and handed him a small phial of lyrium. He took it gratefully like a shot of medicine and was encouraged to lay down. “You have a few hours yet before they decide what to do with you.”

“But I have done nothing wrong.”

“I know, dear, I know. Not many here in the Gallows do anything wrong.”

“Then why…?”

“Some must be made examples so that those that remain understand far too well the Fate that should befall them should they even consider defying the rules or ignoring their duty.”  
The kindly old woman pulled the blankets of the cot he lay on up to cover his chest though she carefully lay his arms over it to rest his shoulders. When this was done Garrett promised himself a proper bath and a shave before he submitted to whatever sentence Meredith had decided for him. Perhaps she would believe him and he would be permitted to stay with the Order but under a more careful watch. He wondered who or what had given away his connection to his sister. Surely it hadn’t been Ser Thrask. The way the kindly man spoke to him… he seemed to understand and there was no way he could have known that Garrett had been speaking to Bethany in the Hanged Man. Perhaps another of the Order had seen them talking there?

Or maybe it had been when he had been speaking with her on his way home from his duties? That was more likely. It would just mean he would have to be more mindful of the Order’s watchful eyes and not speak to Bethany or her lover directly. As well as he believed she could defend herself from any knights that would come for her, mother had seen enough horror and bloodshed to last her a lifetime. To lose all three of her children, one to the Blight, one to the Order and the last to the Chantry… it might break her just as surely as being locked in the Gallows would.

At some point while he had been laying in the infirmary he had fallen asleep and the only reason why he had known that was because the kindly woman had woken him gently when the Knight Captain came to see him and helped him to sit up carefully in his cot. Garrett moved to get up but found it difficult without being able to apply the proper amount of leverage he needed to in his arms to get to his feet. The captain seemed to understand and told him it was alright for him to stay where he was.

“Further investigation into the matter has shown that what you have said is true. There is no evidence of harboring apostates.” Well that was expected but a relief to hear none the less. “But there is some evidence of fraternization.”

“As I said, I spoke to her to try to convince her to turn herself in…”

“The Hunters will renew their efforts in the Hunt for Mistress Hawke, Corporal, but that is not the point of concern.”

“Then speak plainly Knight Captain. What is my sentence?”

“To prove your loyalty to the Order and the Maker above all else in this world, Knight Commander Meredith has decided to send you with the Hunters to face a known apostate within the city. It is not, by their accounts, Mistress Hawke but one of her companions of late.”

Garrett shifted but did his best to keep his features blank. A companion of hers… he knew of the mage Anders. He was too powerful and too volatile to miss all things considered. But with a mage so powerful –for surely they would have sensed the odd resonance in his magic as he had- would they risk sending someone as untrained in their formations and protocols? Kirkwall was a strange city but surely not. Maybe there was someone else she traveled with? Another mage?

Of course but “I will need time to recover. My shoulders do not have the strength yet to carry my weapon and shield reliably.” 

“Of course. You are, however, suspended from your duties until the Hunt. Knight Lieutenant Marcus will bring you what information you need to know when the time is right. The Order expects to only hear success from this endeavor. Am I clear, Knight Corporal Hawke?”

“Perfectly clear, Ser. I will do all within my power.”

“Then may the Maker turn His gaze on you and Andraste give you strength.”

“So let it be.”

The knight captain left the infirmary as quickly as he had stepped in, for surely the man had more important duties to attend to, and Garrett sighed as he settled back carefully against the pillows. The mage’s healing meant that while his back still throbbed he didn’t have to worry overly much about reopening the wounds. His shoulders, though, would take more time to heal. He was glad. That meant that he had more time to come to terms with his newest assignment… and what that would mean for his future in the Order.  
Perhaps an hour later Garrett received another visitor in the form of his roommate. Unlike the others who had all but ignored the old woman healer he smiled at her and spoke to her like she was any other kindly woman. It was telling that he spoke to her in such a way. Perhaps, like Garrett, he had had relatives that were mages? Or perhaps a friend or lover within the Circle? Such things were forbidden he had heard but surely there were always exceptions to the rule. There always were.

Once the healer stepped away to return to whatever she had been doing before he came in, Ser Thrask took a seat next to him. He looked vaguely concerned but Garrett didn’t know him well enough to be able to tell anything beyond that. “I am sorry, Ser Garrett,” he said, “I would have warned you but there wasn’t time. With all the recruits going missing recently, Knight Captain Cullen and Knight Commander Meredith have been cracking down on any of our number with connections to mages outside the Circle.”

Recruits were going missing? It would be one thing if a number of them simply left the Order before taking their vows, this life wasn’t an easy one nor did the Maker call very many to it, but to disappear? And with the Knight Captain and Knight Commander cracking down as they were, they likely suspected maleficarum. Were the recruits that were going missing training to become Hunters? Or was there some kind of evidence to prove that foul play and blood magic was involved? Someone must have been investigating the disappearances but clearly hadn’t gotten far.

So out of desperation any of the knights that had been shown to have connections to outside mages were being pressed to Hunt them like he had been or face excommunication from the Order. Surely they knew as well as he did what excommunication would do to the men and women they exiled? The leash of lyrium that the knights of the Order were bound by was not an easy one to slip. Many would likely become bandits, gang members or use their knowledge of the Order to smuggle lyrium into the city or to their fellows whose need had outgrown their daily phial.

Garrett sighed, resigned to his fate to Hunt down some poor girl or boy who, no doubt, had not harmed anyone and was simply seeking to build their own life away from the Gallows. He hoped it would go smoothly. He was not sure he would be able to withstand the Maker’s judgement if he had to strike the innocent mage down because they had used magic to defend themselves out of fear of the armed men that came at them with swords drawn and shields held firmly in place. “Tell me you have good news.”

“I do. While the Knight Commander had you held for questioning, I called on Mistress Hawke to aid me with something,” Ser Thrask said and Garrett knew he was being purposely vague because of the healer still within the rooms, “I told her of what happened and she seemed genuinely upset. She asked me to let you know she is planning an expedition and will likely be away from Kirkwall for several weeks so asks you to watch over your mother while she is away.”

“Do you know if the expedition has left?”

“I believe that they will leave by the time you are well enough for your Hunt. Ser Marcus would not give you less than two weeks to heal as he has experienced very similar wounds and knows the pain well.”

With the healer’s kind hands it would only take two weeks? He had known men who still suffered from the pain for months. While that was a relief it was still only two weeks for Bethany to leave Kirkwall and he could relax a bit. From what he understood, unless the Hunters were ordered out of the city, most served within the city walls or in locations nearby and trusted the apostates outside to the Orders of the neighboring city states.

“Thank you for the information, Ser Thrask.”

The man nodded. “You are welcome, Ser Garrett. I pray that your Hunt goes smoothly and Mistress Hawke returns safely from her endeavor.”

They spoke a little while longer, getting to know each other as Brothers of the Order who shared rooms. Garrett learned that Ser Thrask was a Warden of the Circle, a Brother who watched over the mages and retrieved those within the city who recently came into their magic. He seemed like the fatherly type so Garrett imagined he would be a good choice for retrieving children from their parent’s home. Perhaps if a knight like him had come to take Bethany away, mother would not have been so worried about the fate of her daughter and Bethany would have been raised amongst other mages in Kinloch Hold.

But if she had, she might not have survived the Blight and the chaos that erupted in the Ferelden Circle. He had met a few knights that had been in the Circle before the Battle of Denerim but they hadn’t spoken much and there were only a few mages left with any sort of talent that had been brought to join the army in battle. It would only be after the war that he would learn anything of the uprising and the near purge of the Circle. She was a strong girl but under that kind of assault would she have survived? Yet the Maker had put them on this path for a reason and it was not for him to question it. 

He spoke little of Bethany and his family with Ser Thrask but the older knight seemed to understand and deftly avoided the topic. Instead they discussed Garrett’s experiences as an escort to the missionaries that ventured into the Wilds. The Chasind always seemed to fascinate those that lived outside Ferelden. Were there no tribesmen out in the Free Marches? He knew little about the culture of the Free Marches outside of Knight Commander Meredith’s reputation and he had only known her reputation through the knights that had stopped in Lothering on their way to Ostagar. 

One of the Tranquil brought both men their dinners as a courtesy, a smaller meal than they likely would have gotten had they actually gone to the dining hall, and they ate while they chatted some more until the sun set. Ser Thrask left the infirmary when the bell tolled for evening prayers and Garrett thanked him for his visit and his time. He checked the make sure the healer was nowhere nearby before he got out of bed and made his way back to his rooms to gather his things for a bath. He was doubtful that she would approve but he planned to return when he was clean, shaven and dressed in something other than the scraps of his tunic and trousers. Cleanliness was next to godliness after all.

By the time he was done bathing –which took more effort than he was willing to admit- shaving and redressing, the moon had risen high enough that when he returned to the infirmary (after sneaking into his room to put his bathing things away) he felt exhaustion creep over him in a good way. He settled himself in the bed comfortably, forcing his mind away from the sharp pain of his shoulders that had resurfaced as he bathed, and closed his eyes as he recited his nightly prayers perhaps with a little more fervor. Maker guide them all safely. 

*** 2 weeks later ***

Garrett could feel his hands shaking as he knelt in the confessional, dressed in his Templar robes but not the armor. Most knights like him would go to confession in the Chantry in the Gallows as those priests were used to hearing of sins like the ones Garrett was about to confess. But Garrett did not want the penance granted by a priest who had grown weary of such tales. He didn’t care which priest within the main Chantry of Kirkwall took the confession, only that they, as outsiders of the Order, would grant him proper penance… or demand proper punishment for his sins. 

Surely what he had done this day was not what Andraste would have wanted of Her Holy Order, the knights whose divine role was to protect the faithful from outside threats. It was not the first time he had killed someone. The Blight had his hands, weapons, shields and armor thick with the ichor of darkspawn and the splattered blood of his allies and they were cut down around him. Even in the Wilds he had had no choice but to cut down a few maleficarum who refused to heed his word and conjured black magic to kill. 

But this… this mage was but a child. She was so small and clearly so ignorant of what she was doing as she slit her arm open and wove her own blood into a spell. Perhaps it had been her elvhen features that distorted his perception of her age, the wide eyes and youthful face. Perhaps it had been the lilt of her words when she spoke, clearly raised amongst the Dalish if the tattoos that she wore so proudly were anything to go by. If she had conjured any other form of magic, if she had found a source of mana in anything other than blood he could have spared her. The Order of Ferelden, at least, would have let him spare her.

But she had used blood. She had woven spells that tried to turn some of the knights against each other. He had had no choice. He had thrown her across the room with his shield because she had been so light and when he Silenced her magic she seemed so lost and confused. He had asked her forgiveness, for he was only doing her duty, and she spat at him though her big green eyes had reflected more fear than her words did. “May the Dread Wolf hunt you for the rest of your days.” He did not understand enough about Dalish lore to know much of the Dread Wolf but the way she said it he knew it to be a curse regardless.

Her blood splattered across his armor as thickly as any darkspawn blood or demonic ichor had but somehow it burned him as if it were made of fire. The ground beneath his feet was soaked in it from where she had cut herself but as her head rolled nearby it was the blood on the wall of her home that haunted his dreams the most. She may have been a heretic and a maleficar but she was so young and clearly so ignorant of what she was doing that she could have been saved if only the Order would have let him try. 

There was a shuffle in the confessional on the side of the priest and he heard the person settle into place. He did not think as he shuffled onto his knees, already feeling smothered by the enclosed space. “Forgive me,” he said, fighting to keep his hands from shaking as he folded them in prayer by the grate where he could vaguely see a figure was seated, “for I have sinned. I have brought shame upon the Maker and Andraste with my actions and I would repent for what I have done.” Or at least, that was how confessions were opened when they were done in Ferelden. 

The priest seemed confused for a moment before they replied. “Oh the behalf of the Maker I will hear your confession, my child. Speak then of what you have done so He may see that you understand your mistakes.”

Only one of the male priests had an accent like that and it made Garrett close his eyes against his shame. Of all the priests to take his confession it had to be Brother Sebastian. Perhaps it was best. If he heard from the man who had become such a distraction that his attentions were wrong, that he needed to repent for both the murder and his lust, he would bring himself to find a means to ignore it completely. He almost missed the hot tears that fell down his cheeks. He had not realized he had even shed them.

“I have committed murder,” he told the priest, “In my duties to the Order I have killed someone who could have been saved. She was so small, Brother, so young and easily manipulated. If I had not brought my blade down upon her, she might have seen the error of her ways and repented her sins before the Maker. But she cast forbidden magic, tried to turn my Brothers against one another in her desperation. The Order mandated she had to die but backed into a corner with no escape, could anyone honestly say they would not be as desperate?”

Garrett leaned forward to rest his forehead on his folded hands, perhaps to hide his shame though the priest could not see his face through the screen. “I have also felt myself be distracted by lust, Brother, had my eye turned and mind twisted with unholy thoughts of another. It cannot be right to want as I do one of the priests of the Chantry. I have prayed for these unclean thoughts to be taken away from me but they persist.”

The priest did not speak for some time but when he did the words were not what Garrett expected.


	5. Tensions Rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After returning to his Chantry duties, Bethany returns from the Deep Roads a noblewoman and buys back the old estate. Tensions rise with the Qunari and Ser Garrett sees the burden Bethany has so thoughtlessly placed on Brother Sebastian's shoulders.

Ser Garrett had barely returned to his proper duties in the Chantry when Bethany Hawke –who now went by Bethany Amell- returned from the Deep Roads with enough riches to move herself and her mother into mother’s ancestral estate. The women apparently settled in nicely to the old home and Bethany had even acquired a dwarven manservant somehow though the rumors didn’t say how. She was a mostly respected member of the nobility now and certainly seemed to dress like it just as mother did. The few times he had seen them in the Chantry he had made sure to switch positions with one of his Brother knights to avoid standing in the same station more than once. His shoulders still ached when the weather turned foul from the last time someone had seen him speak with his family and the scars of the lashes along his back he knew would never properly fade.

He did send letters along though, placing them in the hands of messengers as they passed through the Chantry to let mother know that he was alive and relatively well. She would always write back though she never spoke of what Bethany was doing now that she was a noble. If anything she would talk about how Anders often crept into the house when he thought Leandra was asleep to see Bethany and then try to sneak out in the morning. _It is frustrating that they try to hide it from me,_ she wrote once, much to Garrett’s amusement, _they remind me a little too much of your father and I when we were that age though I would think Bethany might believe I’d be more understanding than your grandmother was._

These letters he kept tucked away under what few sets of clothes he had that were not tied to the Order. If Ser Thrask saw them, he did not ask. The one time he had accidentally left one in the open during his rush to get to the dining hall after his duties for the evening, he had turned to find it neatly folded away and with another open letter sitting next to it. The letter was clearly meant for Ser Thrask and had been written some time ago by a woman named Olivia… a woman who was clearly both an apostate and his daughter. Garrett had folded the letter carefully and placed it in the man’s nightstand out of sight but left a note for him for when he returned him his duties. It was comforting to know that he was not the only one who knew all too well that mages were people like everyone else.

But the focus of the Order seemed to shift entirely over the years that came and went. The number of recruits seemed to dwindle and tension throughout the city thickened. Within the Chantry itself there were whisperings over what to do about the heretical Qunari whose numbers had grown with the people who went to them to join the Qun. Some of the Sisters were fearful of what it might mean. Some of the Mothers tried to preach intolerance. One Mother in particular, Mother Patrice, seemed determined to set the people against them, claiming their heresy in the city of Kirkwall could not be tolerated. 

But Grand Cleric Elthina surpassed them all and told the people of Kirkwall that the Maker had set before them a challenge to their faith not as a call to violence but as a means to show those who were ignorant of the Chant through example Andraste’s love for all the Maker’s creations. Ser Garrett thought her words idealistic even if they were inspiring. The Order had begun a stricter regiment of training with all their senior most knights, Garrett included, to ensure their combat skills were not lacking should tensions break and the Qunari unleash an assault on Kirkwall. The guard would not be enough, he had been told, not when faced with warriors who had seen Maker knows what kind of combat. It was their duty as the shields of the Faith to protect the people from such dangerous heretics.

Perhaps it was the nervousness of the people that had Garrett listening a little more closely to the words of the Sisters and the gossip they tended to circle around despite the fact that gossiping itself was a sin. A few of them spoke of Bethany Amell being pulled into the politics by the Viscount and what that could mean. 

“Maybe the Viscount makes her use magic to change their mind? Actual blood magic?”

“Meredith wouldn’t let her walk free if she was a known blood mage.”

“But with her title, surely she has some immunity?”

“Not with that. Meredith has her ways.”

It had taken everything he had to not interject and defend Bethany from this gossip yet at the same time couldn’t help but take it to heart. Maker knew what that man Anders was capable of. Maybe he had taught her blood magic? A flash of the elf he had executed long ago flashed across Garrett’s mind. Could he do the same to Bethany if it was called for? Could he stand to have her blood on his hands? It was what father had always feared would happen when Garrett had joined the Order and the reason why Carver had taken such a hostile stand against him when they saw each other in the Chantry.

But surely he would not be called on to do such a thing. The Knight Captain would see the potential conflict of interest and not call on him should the Order have evidence of her using such dark magic. He just had to focus on his duties and trust that the Maker would see justice done. With tensions rising the Grand Cleric was in greater danger than ever and her Guardians needed to be on high alert. Maker only knew how many of the congregation that gathered to hear her wisdom could be potential assassins.

A few times, although they were becoming rarer now, Garrett would see Bethany step into the Chantry, not to pray but to seek Brother Sebastian, dressed in his full armor and bow at his back. They would leave together with Anders usually following close behind and a dark skinned elf with white hair. Where they went and what they did, Garrett had no idea but he didn’t particularly feel like asking Sebastian about the details either. The less he knew about what she was doing, the better he could protect her against Meredith should he be caught and “interrogated” again. 

Once or twice, when he was feeling braver and he knew Bethany was not at home, Garrett snuck to the Amell estate to spend time with mother in person. She had clucked at him when he visited her the first time and chastised him for staying away so long until he explained why he had. That evening she talked about how much she feared for him in the Order while they ate and he had done what he could to assure her. Essentially, so long as he stayed clear of Bethany he would be alright and there would be no conflict between his duty and his family.

During their last dinner together, mother had tried to push the idea of marriage at him. “Your sister is likely going to marry that apostate she’s seeing,” she said with no little confidence about the matter, “and I have been receiving gifts from a suitor of my own. It would do you some good to find someone who supports you just as we have.”

“I am a Templar, mother. My duties to the Maker come before all else.”

“Aveline was married to a Templar.”

“And he sought permission first and had to prove that not only was she a devout Andrastean but also that she would not prove to be a distraction from his duties.”

“Surely you have someone in mind.”

He did though he knew nothing would ever come of it. A prince of any nation, regardless of what vows he had taken, would not stoop so low as to marry a commoner like him, even if he carried the titled of Templar. The echoes of the penance Brother Sebastian had given him for both the murder of the blood mage (for it was no less than that) and his lust for a priest had been heavy in prayer and fasting and every time he found his mind wandering now he repeated the penance in hopes of purging himself of the desire. Yet it hadn’t left him despite all these years and the number of times he had submitted to it. Perhaps it never would and he would have to repent for his lust for the rest of his days. 

He had never told his mother about the man that had caught his eye. He doubted she even knew that he preferred men and liked to keep it that way. Instead he asked her more about her suitor in an effort to keep her distracted until he had to leave to catch the last ferry back to the Gallows for his curfew. It was a strategy he hated using but he had to admit was one of the more effective ones. 

That had been days ago and Garrett knew it would be several weeks before he got the chance to speak to mother again. He had to keep his focus on his duties instead of worrying about her or Bethany. Clearly they could care for themselves. Many of the knights here had never seen actual combat and those stationed within the Chantry likely had never even spilled blood. They did not have the eye for danger that he did, the experience with killing. If there came a need he would gladly deal the killing blow so some Brother or Sister would not have to carry that burden too. 

Word reached the Chantry and the Order within it of the poison that had been spread throughout a district in Lowtown, one that was blamed on the Qunari for it was one of their concoctions though there was no proof that they nor one of their converts had arranged for such an attack. The Mothers that called for peace were starting to lose their influence with the people as the citizens became more and more afraid. Apparently Bethany had saved as many as possible sealing the poisonous barrels and executing the one responsible but who did that person work for? Were they one of the faithful who were trying to spark the war with the Qunari that many were beginning to whisper was inevitable?

Brother Sebastian returned to the Chantry more often than not with his white armor splattered in mud, ichor, blood and a few other substances having clearly seen combat that day and every time Garrett saw a little more of the gentle, naïve young man he had been when he wore only his Chantry robes fade. It angered him that Bethany would use the Brother so, bring him with her knowing he would break his vows as a priest and kill but there was nothing he could do about it. Sebastian was a grown man. If he did not want to go with her he surely was not obligated to. Yet it was clear what she asked of him weighed heavily upon his shoulders for he spent longer in prayer than most of the Sisters, usually in silence with his hood drawn as a symbol of humility that few of the younger Sisters understood or took part in. 

Ser Garrett liked to think that it was Andraste’s hand that guided him to speak to Sebastian when they were relatively secluded, most of the Sisters having retired for the night and the majority of the knights having already gone back to the Gallows for their dinners. Even She had had a companion as she waged her holy war against the Imperium. Surely she would not begrudge this man the same strength?

“Brother Sebastian?”

The man paused in gathering his things for the day and even if Garrett had not seen him do the exact same task with three times the speed before he had begun walking with Bethany and her friends the haunted look in his eyes spoke of his pain. “Yes? How may I help you?”

Garrett removed his helmet, now that the Chantry was empty except the two of them he could do so, and set it aside. It would do better to speak to him not as a knight but as a man. But how to approach this topic? “I have… I…” He sighed and ran his fingers through his dark hair, dislodging some of the black curls that he had smoothed back with a strong lime cream from their confines. “I have noticed a change in someone I care deeply about and that change worries me greatly. I could use your advice.”

The priest’s smile was sad but understanding. Apparently he knew the feeling all too well. “What sort of change?”

“He used to be so devout here, so joyous in the Chant and he gladly served the Maker with everything in him,” Garrett said, trying to be vague about whom he was speaking of for outsiders, “It was beautiful to watch him. But now when he leaves the Chantry to help someone who has asked for it, he returns weary and weighed down, as if what he has seen and done outside these hallowed halls is overshadowing the joy he once found here. I worry for him for this man has clearly not yet seen the horrors of war yet returns to the Chantry each day as weary as any soldier who fought and survived the Blight.”

It didn’t take long for the clever rogue to decipher whom he was speaking about and when he did those blue eyes widened for just a moment and his sad smile faltered. Before Sebastian said anything else, Garrett reached out to catch his free hand, the other holding onto his burden for his trip home, and held it gently. “The people of Kirkwall sense a war coming. The Qunari will not sit idly by while our zealots attack and my sister can only do so much before even her efforts will fail. I have endured war. I have seen the horrors of it and watched it change people so utterly they could not bear the burden of their memories any longer. I would not see you succumb to the weight of such horrors if I can prevent it.”

There must have been something in the way he spoke or maybe there was something in his face and eyes because the hand Garrett held flexed for just a moment before it turned in his grasp and held his hand too. The same sad smile came back to those handsome features and while the weariness from earlier was still there it seemed as if a little of the joy Garrett had once known Sebastian to be so full of gleaned through. It made him glad to see it even if there was still so much to shadow over it.

“You have a good heart, Ser Garrett Hawke,” Sebastian said after a while, “A man such as you might have made a fine priest and you do the Order far more credit than it deserves.” Ah. So he had seen some of the horrors Garrett had heard his fellow knights inflicted on the innocent people of Kirkwall. “But I am a prince now. I must lead a nation and if I do not see war, if I do not see for myself what I am asking of the men I lead into battle, then I am no leader of the people but a disconnected noble whom they will grow to resent.”

He was right. Garrett had seen it a number of times. Some of the nobles at Ostagar had been the same way, ordering their men about while they stayed safe in their camps, sending scouting bands of which perhaps one or two survived and some of those survivors didn’t live through the night. But that did not mean that the guilt for the blood that stained this gentle man’s hands needed to be there. He could have borne witness to the war without having the blood of the desperate mar his soul. 

So Garrett took the bundle Sebastian had in his other hand, set it down on the ground carefully, and pulled the priest in as close as their armor would allow for a tight embrace. He wanted to kiss Sebastian, to show how much he cared, why this weighed so heavily on him, but knew his feelings to be wrong. Sebastian himself had said so in that confession so long ago. If he was going to allow himself to feel anything for this man it had to be something pure that no demon could twist into something vile and corrupted.

“Ser Garrett? What are you…?”

“My brother died at the hands of an ogre as I helped my family flee Lothering. My sister has become cold and distant. My commanders threaten me with excommunication should I speak to her or my family. I have failed in my duties as a son and a brother. I swear I will not fail in this. I will not let a man so devout and devoted be burned by the sins of the world. I am a Guardian of the Faith, a shield of Andraste, and I swear to you, Brother Sebastian Vael, if it is within my power in this world I will do all I can to shield you from the cruelties and ugliness that mar the Maker’s creations.”

He felt strong hands hold him tightly too, calloused fingers run through his hair and that soft voice try to soothe him. It was only then that he realized he had been weeping quietly into soft material of Brother Sebastian’s gambeson. He loosened his grip he had on Sebastian, at once embarrassed at his display but glad he could be rid of its weight on his shoulders. When he let go and moved to step away the prince caught his face and brushed away his tears. His smile was sincere for once.

“I am humbled that you hold me so close to your heart, Ser Garrett, as to consider me one of your family. It is encouraging to know that there is someone who can and will stand with me should I need it. But your words speak of a need for peace, not more war. Your heart and mind are disquieted. Just as I am now called on to learn the price of war, I believe you have been called on to heal what was broken within yourself and more death is not the way to do so.”

Garrett fought to mask his disappointment but it seemed some still shone through. 

“Do you remember your confession, Ser Garrett, about the killing of an apostate a few years ago?”

Of course. How could he forget? The girl’s death still haunted him some nights when he saw Bethany, her longer black hair bound back and that ragged looking apostate at her side. “Yes. I remember.”

“Then her death still weighs heavily on you. That memory still holds you, Ser Garrett, and until you can accept your actions of that day you will not know peace.”

Perhaps it was his own masochism that made him bring it up. To be honest Garrett wasn’t sure he cared but he brought it up anyway. “And what of the lust I confessed to? The unholy thoughts I have sought penance for all these years?”

“Are you free of it?”

How could he be when he now knew what those fingers felt like carding through his hair? When he felt the strength of that body when he held the man close, even though his armor and chainmail? When he know how rough the callouses on those archer’s fingers were? “I doubt I will ever be free of it. He has seemed to capture more than just my eye without having ever spoken a word to me directly.”

Now it seemed Sebastian understood. He looked startled and Garrett stepped back to pick up Sebastian’s burden and hand it to him. The knight had embarrassed himself enough for one evening. “Forgive me,” he said, “I am too bold.” Why hadn’t he kept the words to himself? Why had he even brought up that part of the confession? Now he had ruined everything. Brother Sebastian would never be able to look him solidly in the eye again.

He turned on his heel as soon as he could but Sebastian calling his name made him pause. “It is not that I am not tempted, Ser Garrett, but I knelt and swore before the Maker that I would take no bride but Andraste.”

“I know,” he said, just loudly enough to be heard as he picked up his helmet, “and I would not have you break your vow for earthly pleasures. But even Andraste had a mortal man who walked by Her side, who for the longest time loved Her and protected Her before She was called to the Maker’s work. If you would grant me the same honor, I would gladly stay by your side until the Maker calls for us to part ways.”

If Sebastian had anything more to say Garrett didn’t hear it as he stepped out into the streets of Kirkwall, letting the cool evening air dry what few tears he still felt on his cheeks and compose himself before starting the long trip home. It was unwise for a Templar to travel alone in these streets but if he had to it was necessary for him to keep his senses on high alert. One never knew if the threat would come from those with magic or the mundane who simply sought to slaughter the knights who might hunt their family, friends or lovers. More than a few knights had fallen victim to such bands since Garrett had arrived and he was not willing to take the chance and become the next.

It was a good thing too that he had been paying close attention to his surroundings for if he had not he would not have seen the spear being thrown at him from the shadows. He jumped out of the way, donning his shield first before he drew his sword. His training in Kirkwall would have said that he should don his helmet to protect his head but his experience in Ferelden had shown that the helmet did nothing but muffle the senses to a dangerous degree. 

Another spear was thrown seemingly out of nowhere but its aim was poor and he hadn’t even needed to raise his shield to glance it off of. The arrow that flew had truer aim so he focused on that instead. These were weapons he had seen the Qunari carrying but it was clear that they were used by unknowing or untrained hands. Spears were awkward weapons to use if one was not tall enough nor had the strength to balance them properly let alone throw them. It was why the Order had never bothered with training its knights with pole arms such as spears or halberds. Not many would be able to use such weapons effectively, even in the Circles.

More arrows flew at him, a few spears in the mix, and at once Garrett knew what was going on. He set his jaw and tightened his hold on his shield. He refused to be a victim to unleash a war upon the people of Kirkwall. These people, zealots who sought the chance to drive the “ox-men” from their city, would not best him. The Maker would not wish war upon his people and he served the Maker above all.


	6. Living on the Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even the strongest knight has a limit to his endurance and the knight lieutenant learns of just how far the zealots are willing to go to spark a war.

Well the Maker certainly seemed to have an interesting sense of humor. He had defended himself as long as possible, unable to bring himself to cut down his attackers who wielded no magic yet attacked him regardless. As much as they wanted to make him a martyr if he slaughtered them they would in turn become martyrs of their own. If this was the workings of Mother Petrice, she likely had both outcomes planned. She seemed the type to plan for every possible scenario. Perhaps she missed her calling. She might have made a fine ruler of some distant kingdom.

But even a Templar, trained as he was in combat, grew weary of deflecting arrows from all around him and the spears, although poorly aimed, were heavy enough to nearly dent his shield if he had to block them to protect his person. The people gathered must have once served in some capacity. Most would have exhausted themselves by the time he grew weary but they kept up the pressure. In the back of his mind he wondered if perhaps they were once Fereldens, now frightened into thinking of the Qunari as another Blight that would mercilessly sweep through Kirkwall.

In his exhaustion Garrett grew careless. An arrow struck him from behind, where he wore no plate armor, and buried itself deep into his shield shoulder. He was forced to drop it and the pain of it made him stagger back. There were no nearby buildings he could lean against for protection and without the shield he had no way to getting to one without leaving himself further exposed. His cry of pain had drawn their attention like blood in the water. Their efforts renewed. He was barely quick enough to dodge the spears but the arrows kept coming. Most glanced off his armor but another caught him from behind in his back and then a third lower near his hip. He backed his way toward the nearest building, not caring which it was. He just needed to protect himself from more arrows. The armor could take the punishment his chainmail could not.

He could feel the trickle of blood from his wounds along the skin of his back, the warm stickiness of it making his tunic cling uncomfortably. The pain of the arrows was momentarily dulled by the adrenaline in his system. For just a fleeting moment he laughed at himself. He fought in and survived Ostagar and the Blight of Ferelden. He had served the Order for more years than he cared to count. Yet he would fall here, at the hands of the faithful blinded by the fear of being caught unaware in another bloody battle which the city had no escape from. It was a good thing he had confessed what he had to Brother Sebastian, told him what he had even if he wouldn’t be able to hold to his promise of protecting the priestly prince from the war to come with the heretical Qunari.

But the battle was not as over as it seemed. Just as Garrett felt the adrenaline wear off and with it his strength, he felt the familiar tingle of magic though the magic itself was both familiar and not. Fireballs struck large groups of people he had been unable to see in the night and beneath himself a glyph of repulsion formed. He had braced himself to be thrown from his hiding spot but the force never came. He blinked in surprise. The glyph was there to protect him while the mages –two of them he thought- handled his assailants.

It didn’t take long and when they were done with the people, the mage that had controlled the flames burned away the spears –the blatant Qunari weapon- that remained scattered on the ground. He flinched when some of those flames burned a little closer to him than he would have liked and the glyph beneath his feet, its purpose fulfilled, faded from existence as quickly as it had appeared. It wasn’t until the pair of mages that saved him stepped into the light of the torch that burned brightly near where he had collapsed that he was able to relax.

Bethany’s hair had gotten longer since he had last seen her with it down though her robes were of finer make than the usual battle robes he had seen her in the few times he had seen her come to the Chantry to gather the Brother for her excursions and Anders seemed to clean up a little bit though he remained as scruffy looking in the face as ever. Perhaps they had gone out on a date? They were seeing each other and as both were powerful enough mages they clearly could handle themselves no matter what trouble they faced.

“Bethany…”

“Damn it Garrett. I had thought I was saving someone actually worth saving.”

He winced as shifted where he sat, trying to get to his feet but his back, with the arrows still in it, protested sharply enough that he stopped moving and hissed out a breath. “So glad our familial ties mean so little to you. Now if you could help me up, I can get to a healer and get out of your hair. I don’t know if I can make it to the Gallows as I am.”

He had his eyes squeezed shut to focus on breathing normally so he didn’t notice how her gaze flickered over his shoulder to the shaft of the arrow in it and her glance to her lover who seemed surprised. Together they helped him to his feet, though Bethany stepped away from his side long enough to retrieve his shield, and lead him into the building he had used to defend himself. It wasn’t until a familiar incense filled his nose and a sharp cry of pained surprise reached his ear that he knew where he was. Ah well, perhaps it was best. “Hello, mother. I hope I’m not…”

“If the next word out of your mouth is ‘intruding’, young man you have no idea the kind of wrath I will bring down on your head.”

It was comforting to hear her words though he could hear the worry laced with them. He was quickly ushered to a stool and he felt the straps of his armor being loosened. So apparently the leather that held his breastplate in place was not near the arrows in his skin. Wonderful. He focused his attention on getting his gauntlets off his hands. It took longer than he might have liked. His fingers were not cooperating as well as they usually did. His vision was out of focus. Damn. He really hoped that the arrows were not poisoned.

Mother knelt by his feet to help lift the chestplate away from him when the straps were undone and set it aside before she helped him with the last of his gauntlet straps. The hand he felt brace itself on his shoulder was the only warning he got before the damn arrow was pulled from his shoulder with a hard wrench. He could not have muffled his cry if he tried. The pain was indescribable and certainly worse than it had been when the arrow had first pierced him. He distantly heard the clatter of it nearby before the hand found the next one.

By the time all three were pulled out, Garrett was sweating and he felt weaker than ever. Mother had pulled off his boots and the metal plating that went over them at some point. Already Garrett could feel the soothing caress of healing magic while another set of hands tried to remove his chainmail now that he was free of the plate. He let them do what he wanted, too tired to fight back and even let them take his gambeson robes. Mother’s hands cupped his face and she said something to him but he couldn’t hear it. Someone else pulled him to his feet and it took him a little while to find his footing before he was guided to a small but comfortable room. Mother stayed outside of it, as did Bethany but someone else -Anders maybe- stayed long enough to strip him of his tunic and apply a salve. 

“Thank you,” Garrett was able to say just before he was gently encouraged to settle himself into the cot he sat on. He was so very tired…

“Not all of us apostates are blood mages seeking to slaughter innocents.”

“I know. I know all too well. It’s why I chose to serve. All the faithful should be protected from oppression and cruelty… even mages. It’s why I never became a Hunter.”

“You’ve never hunted an apostate?”

“Once,” he said, sleep already trying to claim him, “at the behest of Meredith. And I have been praying for forgiveness ever since…” Before he could say anything more sleep finally claimed his weary mind and body and for once he slept dreamlessly.

***

When Garrett awoke hours later to an unfamiliar bed beneath him and semi-familiar incense filling his nose he bolted upright in the bed and cried out when the sudden movement seemed to tear something in his back. What had happened? He remembered talking with Brother Sebastian and leaving the Chantry. He remembered a fight at night… flashes of pain… spears? Inexpertly thrown ones because he didn’t remember any of them actually hitting him. Why didn’t he fight back? Something about the people throwing the spears not being strong enough to throw them well, proving that they weren’t actually trained…

A quiet knock on the door caught his attention and he called for the visitor to enter, half expecting to see one of the Tranquil or maybe Ser Thrask. The dwarven man that served at the Amell Estate stepped in instead. Well, that explained some things though not how he got here. Unless he had been cornered outside? He did pass by the estate on his way back to the Gallows most nights and there was a fairly large open space it opened onto. If he had been taken down by civilians, however, there must have been a large number of them… or he must have very distracted.

The dwarf –Bohdan was his name- set aside the tray he had been carrying on the nightstand next to Garrett’s bed. “It is good to see you awake Ser. I must say you gave Mistress Amell and your mother quite the fright. Your mother is none too pleased with you right now I think.”

He didn’t think she would be. Kirkwall was not a war zone. If anything he should have been safer here than he had been in Ferelden yet it was in the city, protected by its stone walls, that he came closer to death than he had during the Blight. There had been a couple of times out in the Wilds with the missionaries that came pretty close but like in the city he had mostly been fighting by himself. He had faced the Blight with an army. “It isn’t like I intended to be ambushed outside her door.” 

“Of course not, Ser, but it is a mother’s right to worry. I’ve brought you some soup and fresh bread. She wanted to know when you woke up and we sent word to your knight lieutenant about the ambush and the fact that you were at the estate while you recovered from your injuries. He’ll likely want to speak with you himself in an hour or so.”  
Speaking of which… “What time is it?”

“Six bells in the morning Ser.”

The clerics were likely reciting the morning prayers then. He had some time. More carefully now that he knew he had been injured, Garrett turned to his night stand toward the soup and took the spoon with some care. It looked delicate and was polished beautifully. It seemed a shame to actually use it to eat. “How long did I sleep?”

“Nearly twelve hours, Ser.”

Twelve hours? Well that wasn’t so bad. He had slept longer after the Battle of Denerim although to be fair the battle was much longer and the enemy he faced much more ruthless.But mother didn’t know that. Neither did Bethany though perhaps Anders did, being a Warden and all. His accent was Ferelden but for all Garrett could remember he hadn’t been at the battle. There had only been two Wardens then. Alistair and the one called the Hero of Ferelden… what was the name? Cousland? He had never paid much attention to politics and after the war there was no real reason to remember his name, just his title. 

“That explains the stiffness,” he mused as he dipped the spoon in the soup and tasted it. It was good and clearly homemade though he couldn’t place if it was mother’s cooking or not. 

“Could be that or the arrows Mistress Bethany and Master Anders found you stuck with.”

Garrett laughed softly. So the dwarf did have a sense of humor. Good. Bethany seemed to have lost hers. “Possibly. I assume Anders was the one who did the initial healing?”

“He did as best he could. The fight had depleted a good portion of his mana he said. What his magic couldn’t heal he used a salve for.”

Hence there was still some stiffness in the muscles. Fine. He could handle it. 

Garrett glanced around the room and frowned when he didn’t see his armor anywhere. Surely he had worn it to the estate and while Bethany was a mage surely the Amell line hadn’t always been mages. “Did you rack my armor?” He hoped so. The chainmail would be a pain to straighten out again if it was caught on itself.

“Yes I did Ser. My boy polished it and your shield nice and proper though I did tell him to leave your sword alone.”

“If you could bring me my armor please? Can’t let the knight lieutenant see me in anything less than the uniform after all.”

“Quite right Ser. I will fetch it at once.”

With a courteous little bow Bohdan turned on his heel and left Garrett’s room though he did not close the door completely behind him. Good thing too as after a moment mother slipped into the room, her expression somewhere between exasperated and pleased when she saw he was eating decently even if he was wrapped up in bandages as he did so. He hoped she hadn’t been there to see how bad they had initially been though he did remember vaguely her speaking to him before he had fallen asleep. She had her arms crossed over her chest as she watched him for a second, not saying a thing, as if drinking in the poor state of her son. 

In all honesty, Garrett could not have tried to argue with her if he wanted to. If anything her stare compelled him to say something. “I’m fine mother,” he said slowly, hoping she would trust his word, “really, I am. Anders fixed me up fine and when I speak with my superior today we will begin an investigation into…”

“And you wondered why your father and I didn’t want you joining the Order.”

This? This was what she was going argue with him? “I thought it was because father and Bethany were both mages.” He remembered being raised to distrust the Templars above all others.

“That was part of it. But we knew something like this would happen one day. If it wasn’t some maleficar’s magic then it’d be some thrall’s blade or some mercenary hired to protect someone.”

“It was the same risk I would have taken had I stayed home. Are these not things that civilians face every day, with or without training?”

“At home you would have had Carver and Bethany with you at least. With the Order... we kept waiting for the letter of condolence every time you went with a priest into the Wilds.” He heard what she wasn’t saying –that last night he had very nearly been that condolence letter the Order would have sent her upon their identification of his body. He was finished with his soup and he carefully shifted away from the tray as he stood on his own two feet, his back protesting but doing what he willed of it.

“Mother, I am right here,” Garrett said to her softly, opening his arms to beckon her to hug him if that was what she needed. “I am alive, though not unscathed. I will heal in time. In fact, when Bohdan returns I am going to get ready for my duties at the Chantry just like I would have done had I not slept in so late.”

Her expression twisted and she ran into his arms just before the tears came. Her arms were tight around without the armor and chainmail in the way and he hugged her back though more gently. “Don’t you dare scare me like that again, Garrett Hawke! Don’t you dare! I’ve already lost your father and Carver… I won’t lose you too!”

He wanted to make that promise. He honestly did. But he could not in good conscience, do so. He did not know what the Maker had in store for him or the Order. If he was called upon to sacrifice his life for the good of the people and the faith, he would. Such was what he had sworn to and Garrett was nothing if not a man of his word. So instead of answering he held his mother close and soothed her as best he could. This seemed like something she needed to get off her chest so he let her cry it out.

A while later, Bohdan appeared with Garrett’s equipment in his arms, which he laid gently on the cot. “Everything should be there Ser,” the little dwarf said proudly, “and should you need help with it or anything else, please do not hesitate to ask.” He bowed again before he left the room and let mother and son continue with her conversation. 

Garrett excused himself after a moment and checked to make sure everything was in place before he asked mother where the water closet was. He had a morning routine he needed to fulfill, including shaving his cheeks clean and taking his daily draught of lyrium before he could consider putting the armor on. She pointed him in the right direction, told him where to retrieve the water he would need for the shave and where he could find a razor and shaving cream. When Garrett expressed his surprise that she would even have such instruments in her house considering Anders did not shave and neither did the dwarf, mother had simply smiled her too secret smile and said “Bethany’s not the only one with friends in this town.”

Right. Those were details he didn’t want to or need to hear. He hurried to the water closet to take care of his morning routine there before he hurried back to the bedroom and began to wrestle on the armor he usually wore with ease. The angry muscles in his shoulder burned as he forced himself to push through the pain to get the heavy chainmail first then to strap on the breast plate. He almost felt like he’d need an elfroot potion just to get through the day… and that was before he strapped his shield to his back. Yup. With the shield on he’d definitely need it.

Fortunately he kept one with him, in case of injury in the field or what not, and drank it down slowly before he emerged from the bedroom and found his way to the main lobby. He knew before he even got there that Bethany and Anders were waiting there too. With the lyrium ration he had been given in case of emergencies fresh in his blood and still tingling a bit in his tongue, he could sense their magic more keenly than usual. Bethany’s was like a cool wind and reminded him a bit of the flavor of mint. Anders’ was harder to describe. More like the cold of the Wilds but sharper, deeper and in a way purer. 

Bethany looked relieved to see him at least, though Anders seemed somewhere between annoyed and pleased. “I would have thought the Order would have trained you better,” Anders all but sneered, “barely a handful of civilians with no armor almost got the better of you.”

“Unlike many of my Brothers here, Anders, I do not draw my blade against the faithful.”

“Then how do you justify serving an Order which does?”

“I serve the Maker first. His commandments as spoken by Andraste guide my actions more than any orders I receive.”

Anders had been about to open his mouth to say something else when a knock on the front door echoed loudly enough to catch everyone’s attention. Bethany took Anders by the arm, excused the both of them, and together they went upstairs to her bedroom to do what Garrett wasn’t sure he wanted to know. It mattered less than the knight lieutenant that stepped into the lobby of the estate that Garrett clipped his heels together and saluted as was proper. The salute was returned though the knight lieutenant looked concerned.

“Are you alright, corporal? The dwarf’s note said you were stuck pretty good a couple of times.”

“Just a few arrows, Ser. Nothing rest and a few potions couldn’t fix.”

“Do you know who attacked you then?”

“No. I did not see their faces. They hid too well in the shadows but I know they were not working alone.”

“Really? How do you know?”

“They tried to use Qunari spears but did not have the strength or skill to use them effectively, thank the Maker.”

“How do you know they were not converts? Men sent by the Qunari to assess the skill of the Order?”

“Converts to the Qun are not tested in such a way and even if they were the Qunari would not send half trained soldiers when a single trained man can do the task. They would not have needed so many if the Qunari had wanted me dead. The number and skill set tell me this group tried to make it look like I was a victim of the Qunari. It seems more are taking heed to the words of Mother Petrice.”

The knight lieutenant sighed resignedly and stared into the fire of the nearby hearth as he thought. This was a matter that would have to be handled with some delicacy and while the man was good at many things, the subtle art of politics, diplomacy and manipulation was not one of his talents. Yet the matter could not simply be ignored. Garrett knew that just because that particular small group had failed that did not mean that others would not take their place… or that any knight who was not prepared would survive them regardless of their actual skill.

“I will have to bring the matter to Knight Commander Meredith,” the lieutenant said after a long moment of consideration, “and probably speak to Grand Cleric Elthina. She needs to know of this unrest and deal with those responsible as she will.” 

“Even if she demotes or excommunicates those who preach such violence, you know they will not be silent. This war is coming, no matter what actions we take now.”

“It is in the Maker’s hands but we will do what we can, Ser Garrett, for the people of Kirkwall.”

“Understood.”

The word seemed to lend finality to the topic because the next question the knight lieutenant asked was whether he was ready, willing and able to return to his duties at the Chantry. Garrett said he would though this time he would make sure he left for the Gallows with his fellows. He would not be caught so easily in such an obvious trap again.


	7. Blood Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> War hovers on the horizon with the Qunari and Leandra Hawke goes missing.

Weeks passed. More news spread and not all of it good. Word fluttered about the Chantry of Bethany’s exploits with the Qunari but it was sounding more and more like the Arishok preferred to simply keep himself and his people separate from the others of Kirkwall while some of the people seemed intent on pushing him out. Some of the Mothers continued to encourage intolerance or even violence but they were much quieter about it than they had been. The Grand Cleric had brought attention to Garrett’s situation though she did not name him directly and denounced those actions firmly.

But worse yet it seemed that the viscount’s son, Seamus Dumar was a known sympathizer and word had gotten around that he was considering joining the Qun. In Garrett’s humble opinion, the man could do what he wanted. He may be the son of a politician but he should be free to make his own choice and if he chose to turn his back on the Maker, then so be it. Perhaps he was meant to act as a liaison between the Qunari and the Andrastean peoples of Thedas? That answer was far beyond his understanding of the Maker’s plans.

Garrett’s wounds healed slowly but they healed well. The initial mage’s magic that was poured into them reduced the damage to the tissues that had been pierced and if he had new scars now to add the scars of the lashes on his back, well, scars earned in the name of the faith were to be worn with pride. Ser Thrask didn’t ask about the new ones though he did say that it was a shame. “A knight so young should not bear as many scars as you do.” Garrett hadn’t been sure if the man was flirting or not.

Perhaps more noticeably, for him at least, was the way Brother Sebastian acted around him. Sebastian was never a flirty man to begin with (at least he wasn’t now though he had heard some tales about the youth the man had once been) but he made sure to take the time to speak to Garrett personally each night before he left or when Garrett left his post long enough to take a meal and ease the strain in his legs and knees. As it turned out they had several things in common that neither of them had known about before. They became friends though the time Sebastian spent helping Bethany with her various tasks around Kirkwall did keep them from spending much time together outside the Chantry. Not that there was much in the city two men like them could do. Garrett would always have to wear some kind of symbol of his status as a Templar and increasingly Templars were an unwelcome sight in many places in Kirkwall. At least as a priest Sebastian was only required to wear a medallion if he was not on official Chantry business, not that the belt buckle of his armor was subtle.

Bethany didn’t speak to her brother after he left the estate those weeks ago, didn’t even reply to the letters he wrote though interestingly enough mother did write back and cited that she and her suitor had been getting more serious but she wasn’t ready to name him just yet. Their courting was traditional. She had only met him in person once. In her writing she said that he seemed like a sad person who was reaching out to find someone to fill an empty hole within himself. Garrett felt uneasy. He knew too little information about the possible suitor.

But mother also wrote about the subtle shift in Anders’ behavior. Whereas before he was calm but always in the mood for a good joke, he seemed to fall harder into his work and rely on Bethany to be there for him. She clarified that the apostate wasn’t with her for money, not by any means, but something seemed off about him and whatever it was seemed to be getting worse over time. Bethany hadn’t said anything to her so mother thought it was something secret between the two of them but she couldn’t help but worry about them both.

Garrett had been tempted to visit the estate again after he read her latest letter. He could almost feel her concern through the pages. But he had his duties. The knight captain and knight commander, if they caught him, might not be so forgiving this time or they might require more of him than he was willing to give them. He didn’t want to contemplate having to do to her what he had been forced to do to that elvhen apostate and if Anders were there, Maker only knew if he would survive the fight with him before killing her.

So he stayed away from his home and listened to the gossip and the news carefully. He made sure that when he left the Chantry at night it was never alone. He heard through one group that Ser Varnell, one of the knights in favor of chasing the Qunari from Kirkwall and a rumored lover of Mother Petrice (as he would not put it passed her to use such means to achieve her goals if she deemed it necessary), had met his untimely end amongst a group of others who stood with the Chantry like he did… and the bodies of four Qunari with their swords bound. Delegates then, probably gone to speak with the viscount. The Qunari were likely killed by those that had gathered but then who killed the zealots? Not Qunari. They would not have insulted their own warriors by sending more to aid the four of them. Bethany maybe? She had taken Sebastian with her this time around and he had not returned by the time Garrett had been forced to leave the Chantry (if he wanted to get back to the Gallows safely at least). He’d have to ask Sebastian about it in the morning.

He had been crossing Lowtown with another pair of knights when a man about his mother’s age caught up to him and grabbed his arm. “Um, Garrett right? Leandra’s boy?”

“Yes, I am Ser Garrett Hawke,” Garrett answered, carefully extracting himself from the man’s hold and reaching out with all of his senses to see how much of a threat he was facing. The man himself was no mage. He did not carry himself like any mage he had seen and there was no trace of the Fade’s cool power near him. The better question was how he knew Garrett.

“Oh wonderful. It’s a good thing I caught you. Listen, I’ve already gone to the estate and told your sister about this but I figure three sets of eyes are better than two…”

The other two knights had paused when Garrett did and watched the interaction with some interest. Garrett considered carefully what was going on. Those zealots were still about and they were about to cross down into the docks that would lead to the ferry to the Gallows. It wasn’t the last ferry of the night and this did sound important. He told the others to go on.

They looked between him and this man and, seeing nothing immediately wrong with the scenario, shrugged and continued on their way. Maybe they had plans or something anyway. No matter. Garrett turned his attention back to the man, trying to figure out who he was by context clues. “I can presume, then, that you are Gamlen Amell?” He knew of no other relatives of mother’s in town though she did not write much of him after she had explained the initial situation she, Bethany and Aveline had arrived into in Kirkwall. “I don’t think we’ve actually met in person before.”

Gamlen frowned and crossed his arms but through that frown Garrett saw nervousness and concern. Proper introductions could wait. “How can I help you then, Serah Amell?”

“Leandra’s missing.”

Mother was… “Missing? How? When? How long?”

“She went missing today. She was supposed to visit with me today like she usually does but the time came and went and there is no trace of her. That dwarf she keeps employed at her place said there is a possibility she could be with a suitor but Bethany doesn’t seem so sure. She’s supposed to join us soon to look for her.”

It would be bad enough to be seen with Bethany but to actively help her? Yet his mother was missing and it was possible Bethany would take Sebastian with her. He could find an excuse for the Knight Commander later if he had to. This was his priority. He had already failed to protect Carver and father had passed no doubt hating him for his choice to join the Order. He would not fail mother now when it was clear she need him most. Maybe nothing more would come out of and he would be let in peace after this.

Gamlen had said that mother had gone missing somewhere between his house and the estate. He knew that Gamlen lived somewhere here in Lowtown but where? “I’ll assume then that Bethany will be starting her search in Hightown and you have looked in the obvious places for clues?” Even if she was not a mage it would have been useful to have a phylactery to use to narrow his search. He knew how to use one to hunt but hadn’t done so before. It looked like some odd form of magic from the outside but so did most Templar talents. 

At Gamlen’s nod, Garrett turned his attention instead to the areas around him. There were a few city guardsmen, which meant that there was gang activity in the area or rather there had been until recently. Had Bethany pissed off one while off on her “good doing” around the city? Mother would not be so hard to find if the name Bethany went by became known to the people she had so drastically offended. Yet if they had taken mother for revenge, wouldn’t they have said something? Maybe threatened Bethany into leaving them alone? But Gamlen would have known then.

So Garrett let his uncle lead him to the hovel he called his home –and fought back a shiver of revulsion at the smell much less the look of the place- and began his investigation there. “I’ll just retrace my steps again,” Gamlen said nervously, “in case I missed something between here and the estate.” There was a tinge of desperation in his words now. No news in this case was not good news. Garrett told him gently that it was a good idea and encouraged him to go. He had a few techniques he could try to help out.

Once Gamlen was far enough away, the Templar closed his eyes and reached out with his senses, searching the area nearby for traces of magic. Even the most minor spells left traces sometimes up to two weeks at a time. In the Wilds, it had been a useful trick to avoid traps where known Chasin’d tribes used their magic to protect themselves. It had helped him to avoid the home of the Witch of the Wilds a few times as her magic was so old and powerful there was no mistakening it for any other mage’s much less advanced spellwork.

Immediately in front of Gamlen’s home there was no trace of magic within the last week or so. He returned to his senses and moved on beyond the reach of talent and tried again. He continued to do this until he reached the steps in the Bazaar that led to Hightown. He could faintly hear a boy speaking to Gamlen and Bethany but Garrett was too busy concentrating on his other senses. There was definitely magic here that wasn’t Bethany’s or Anders’. It was faint but felt black and twisted. Blood magic then but where? He concentrated on it harder.

There. It was as if whomever the caster was had oozed or bled some of his magic out onto the ground though there was no trace of the spells he might have cast with his corrupted magic. He let his senses return to the real world just in time to hear Gamlen speak to an urchin who claimed to have seen something and Bethany and her party with her. She had Aveline at her heel, that mage Anders and Brother Sebastian who looked vaguely worried. Well at least now he had an official reason to search for mother with them.

“Wait, you said you saw Leandra?” Gamlen was saying to the dirty boy who had clearly seen better days. His clothes were ragged and falling apart and he sported a black eye like he had just gotten out of a fight. Garrett sighed but stayed out of the boy’s sight as he all but demanded some sort of payment for the information he had. He couldn’t blame the boy but it didn’t make the fact that Bethany had to pay him to save their mother’s life any easier. The information he had wasn’t particularly useful information but better than nothing.

Once the boy had left Garrett approached the party already moving his hands away from his blade hilt so the mages could see them. Aveline was saying she’d have the guards in the area spread out to expand their search. “Good idea, Guard Captain,” he said, drawing their attention to him and, as he expected, the mages at first only saw his uniform and gathered their magic for the split second between their seeing the flaming sword and recognizing his face, “and I have found something a little more solid than the boy’s observations. Whomever mother helped left a trail.”

He pointed to the blood that dotted the ground, blood that had felt thick and slimy with foul magic through his alternate senses, “Bleeding as much as he was, he likely would not have gotten very far. We should follow it.” Bethany was too frantic to question his sudden appearance in their investigation and although Anders was not. He might have even had the gall to question it if it wasn’t clear that both siblings were more focused on finding their mother than dealing with the fact that one was a Templar and one was an apostate at the moment. 

Garrett did not lead Bethany in the search. He let her take point if only to try and make her and her companion feel less threatened by his presence. Yet he remained tense and ready for combat. This man that had lured mother away reeked of blood magic. How powerful this maleficar was he could not predict but he needed to be ready for anything. Even with another warrior his side, a holy Brother and a pair of powerful mages he couldn’t be sure how this would turn out. And if he were powerful enough to turn one of the mages against him… 

No. He wouldn’t let those dark thoughts trouble him now. This mage was nothing like that girl he had been forced to strike down. The girl had used blood mage in her desperation, cornered as she was in her own home. This man was clearly using blood magic because he could and had captured mother though whether he used the dark magic to do it he couldn’t tell. When they found him (because they would, he was sure of that) and he cut the monster down it would be fully justified even if he hadn’t been authorized for the Hunt. One less maleficar in Kirkwall, one less threat to the people and one less reason for Meredith to send the Hunters after any and every apostate in the city under suspicion of blood magic.

They followed the blood trail to an old foundry, one that Aveline had said that they had been to before. Garrett unsheathed his blade. This place felt wrong. There was a heavy darkness here. Surely the mages could sense it too? He could tell Anders did at least. His hands was flexing at his side as if he wanted to gather flames into them or some kind of offensive spell. Bethany was too busy following the blood trail to notice. Up the stairs to the second story, through it seemed every room in the foundry until they found one attached to a trap door. Garrett had a bad feeling about it. Aveline saying that this was the first she had seen of it certainly didn’t help.

This time when they went down into the passage beneath the foundry, Garrett did not let Bethany step forward first. The magic in the air was thick here. He almost wished he remembered to bring his helmet. Instead he donned his shield and stepped forward cautiously, narrowly avoiding a trap at the foot of the stairs. Demons emerged, seemingly from nowhere. The rage demons went after him first but he was ready. He braced behind his shield for their flames before he lashed out with the hot steel and knocked the creature back and called down a Holy Smite on its head. While it was stunned he killed it with his blade tearing its head from its shoulders. He felt the flicker of flames behind him but the way they burned didn’t pull at his senses like the demon’s magic flames did so he ignored them.

A shade leapt at him next, all claws and roars to induce horror in their victims. But Garrett had faced horrors before and this single shade, no matter how it tried, could not match the nightmare that was the Battle of Denerim. He caught its claws as it lunged at it and jabbed at it around his shield. He felt the flesh of the creature give way and its screams rang in his ears but he kept his attention focused. He threw it back and ran it through, twisting his blade.

He took down two more before the battle was over. It had been some time since had fought and killed. The splatter of the demon ichor against his armor and shield made him wrinkle his nose in disgust but this time he had managed to avoid getting any on his face. Brother Sebastian’s armor had been scratched but for the most part he seemed unhurt. Bethany ran to the crumpled figure of a woman nearby but when she turned the woman back it was someone else… someone she knew. Aveline seemed unnerved by the woman’s face. Garrett almost asked about it but decided not to. There were more important things to do.

Their little group pressed forward. They faced more demons, shades and even the undead until they came upon a room that looked lived in. There was a bed, a chest, book shelves heavy with books across multiple languages. Garrett may have been educated by the Order but he could only read a few. Once the enemy was dealt with he looked at some of the titles. What he saw unnerved him. There were several on the studies of blood magic. More than a few on necromancy and even embalming. This… this wasn’t a good sign. What was he doing to his victims? What had he done to mother? 

Bethany stared at a portrait, which drew all of their attention to it and momentarily distracted him from a note he picked up. It looked like a shrine to someone. Someone who looked like mother in the face at least. Combined with the spells of necromancy and blood magic and embalming… Maker what kind of foul magic was afoot here? He looked to Brother Sebastian, who seemed just as disturbed as Garrett felt though perhaps not as deeply. It wasn’t his mother they were searching for in this Maker forsaken pit.

They pressed on further, deeper into this underground cavern. More shades came at them. More demons. Garrett fought with new determination and he could feel the power behind Bethany’s fire magic increase. Her anger and fear was almost palatable. Anders’ magic had changed too but it seemed to become more and more tinted with something Garrett could not name. It felt like lyrium but more powerful as if it was deriving from the Fade itself. He didn’t have time to contemplate it in the middle of combat but it was a thought that nagged in the back of his mind as he fought on.

They eventually made their way to the bastard’s lair. Even without his Templar senses, Garrett could tell there was something very wrong with this man. With them he seemed to radiate a sickness and twistedness that rivaled the darkspawn from so long ago. His grip shifted on his sword and tightened on his shield. He had the strength left to Smite the monster, perhaps to Silence him, but if he over extended beyond that he would need to replenish the lyrium pretty quickly after. 

Bethany spoke to the man and he revealed just how twisted and broken he really was. The loss of his wife had shattered him in mind and soul. He was trying to recreate her, to fix what was broken inside of him. Garrett could understand that part to the haunted man’s ramblings but the way he used his power to do so… it was beyond unnatural. Perhaps it was why his magic felt as vile as the blood of any darkspawn. No man should attempt to bring back the dead. It violated every tenant of the Maker’s laws of nature.

But the man had not only violated the laws of nature he outright shattered them. The creature that stumbled to her feet from that chair that wore his mother’s face, was no person. It wasn’t even a shambling corpse. It took everything Garrett had to keep himself together as the maleficar summoned more shades and demons to defend himself. It didn’t take long for Garrett to burn through the lyrium he had left in his blood and although he had fortified himself as best he could the shambling creature was just within his vision and it continued to unsettle him.

A few demons managed to slip passed his defenses. He felt claws in his chainmail, some of them even tearing at the skin underneath until a well-placed spell or arrow knocked the creature away or killed it. He fought through the pain. This maleficar needed to be put down. These demons would not best him and when he was done with them the man who summoned them, who twisted the souls of the women he had slaughtered to build that creature would be joining them in the Void for Garrett was certain the Maker would not forgive such a man.

The demons were gone. Bethany killed the man with all the rage of a powerful archmage and as he burned alive in the corner of the room the smell of his flesh bubbling and cooking filling the room to the point where Sebastian had to step aside unless he was sick. Garrett ignored the smell and knelt next to mother as Bethany gathered what was left of her in her arms. She was fading quickly. Without the blasted maleficar’s magic to sustain her there was nothing forcing her soul to remain here and even she knew it. It was heartbreaking.

Leandra whispered her goodbyes to her children, thanking them for freeing her from the madman’s clutches. She said she was sorry to have to leave them behind but that she would not be alone by the Maker’s side. She would see father again and Carver. Garrett did his best to take comfort in that, even as he gently held the creature’s hand (it wasn’t hers but at this point he didn’t care). Bethany was falling apart so Garrett took it upon himself. He recited her last rites, wished her peace and happiness at the Maker’s side, as he wept silently.


	8. A Light in the Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrett Hawke takes comfort in Sebastian's arms as he struggles to accept the idea that he so utterly failed his mother yet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Sebastian here may be out of character more than I intended and for that I am sorry. Also this chapter does not go beyond some making out.

Anders took Bethany home, holding her gently as he guided her and for just a moment he saw what she did in that scruffy man. It was clear he cared for her though his vehement hatred of the Order still worried Garrett. Whatever it was he did to bring the wrath of the Templars down upon himself over the years would surely lash back on her if he wasn’t careful. With mother gone, Bethany was his only family now and he would die before he saw harm befall her now, regardless of the mandates of the Order or Meredith’s commands.

He had forgotten that Brother Sebastian was there. He only remembered when he felt a hand gently tug on his shoulder. “Come now, Ser Garrett,” Sebastian said, “it is late and you are due to the Gallows.” He might have laughed at the very idea of calling a place called the Gallows home right now but he was right. He needed to tend to his nightly prayers and prepare himself for tomorrow. His knight lieutenant was a sympathetic man but the knight captain and knight commander were not. Duty to the Order, the Maker and Andraste came before all else.

But before he could return to the barracks and face Ser Thrask and the cell he called his room he had to make sure Brother Sebastian got home okay. That meant a trip into Hightown for the priest lived with the other clerics in the cloister nearby. Slowly he got to his feet, feeling drained and dizzy, and settled his sword and shield back into their proper places. He’d have to ask for the proper mourning attire of the Templars in Kirkwall and speak to Aveline about arranging for the corpses to be gathered and prepared for their funeral rites.

Garrett didn’t speak as they left that Maker forsaken pit the maleficar had called home and he might have walked into a few walls in his daze had Sebastian’s hand on his shoulder guided him gently and subtly through the streets. Fortunately most of the gangs had cleared out and the zealots that had attacked him weeks ago had either been scattered or were simply not out hunting for targets tonight. With the lyrium burned from his system he was barely able to keep awake. He had no idea how he was going to make it to the Gallows.

The cloister was dark when they approached, most of the priests having gone to bed but Brother Sebastian had a key so unlocked the door quietly to avoid drawing undue attention. Garrett waited awkwardly by the entrance for the priest to close the door behind him and send him on his way but instead that cautious hand that was on his shoulder took his forearm instead. “Your wounds need to be looked at. I am no professional healer but I believe I can at least get them clean enough to prevent infection.” He could have sworn that he heard concern.

He followed Sebastian into the cloister to his rooms which, unsurprisingly he had entirely to himself. There was an armor rack for his decorative armor but no secondary one for Garrett to place his own armor so as he shed his sword and shield, he set them in the corner of the small cell that as no bigger than the one he shared with Ser Thrask. His hands shook as he removed his gauntlets carefully and set the gloves that went with them aside. If Sebastian was to tend to his wounds he needed to remove the heavy armor completely.

Sebastian was a little faster than Garrett was in removing his heavy armor and helped him with the last of it and the gambeson before gently guiding him to sit down on the bed, facing the wall at the foot of it where a small shrine to Andraste was kept. He considered kneeling instead to offer a prayer for his mother, but felt too numb. She would not hear his prayer if he could not pray in earnest. It would have to wait until he could reconcile the fact that his mother died to a blood mage under his watch.

A gentle tug on the hem of his tunic brought him out of the blame he was beginning to feel for himself and he removed the clothing without thinking. The gasp of surprise made him pause as he set it aside without getting up. What? What was so… right. The lashes. He had forgotten about them. “The Order cannot tolerate apostates,” he said by way of explanation, even as he felt the uncomfortable trickle of blood on his skin, “and mandates that those within their number surrender the location and information of any they know of within Kirkwall’s city walls.”

“Bethany is still free.”

“Because I could not give information I did not know, though the Knight Commander was not convinced until she tested the strength of my words by fire.”

He shivered at the gentle touch that traced some of the worst of them while avoiding the new wounds to add to their number. Perhaps it would bother him later that the claws of demons left the same scars as the lashes of the Order’s whip but at this moment he was too focused on trying to feel something, anything, other than this emptiness and self-hatred he felt growing.

Sebastian took great care to clean his wounds with the least amount of pain possible though the alcohol he washed some of the deeper cuts with in an effort to prevent the infection already building burned badly. Not quite as badly as it had felt when his shoulders had been dislocated then relocated again and again but it reminded him of that sensation a little too closely. Regardless he kept still, gritting his teeth to keep from making noise until at last the priest deemed his wounds clean enough. The gentle press of a relatively soft cloth almost startled him.

It didn’t take overly long for the bandages to be wrapped tightly around his torso and pinned in place by deft fingers but Garrett felt like he could sit in place and let Brother Sebastian tend to him like this for hours. For not having been trained as a field medic or a healer his hands were gentle even through the pain and he moved as if he had done this often. Perhaps not on another person. Archers were limited in how well they could fight in close quarters and Garrett would not be surprised to know the priest bore many scars himself as one did not tend to wounds like this with such care if they didn’t know firsthand how to treat them.

What possessed him when Sebastian was done to turn and pull the man into a kiss, he didn’t know. He might have been grateful and simply couldn’t find the words to express it. He might have reached for the first sign of kindness after the emotional mess he had become with his mother’s passing. Maybe Andraste, seeing his sorrow, shoved him with Her guiding hand into the arms of someone who could help him cope with the loss like few others could. 

Whatever had possessed him, however, had clearly possessed Sebastian too as the kiss was hesitantly returned at first before it was deepened and the pair of them sank into each other as if they had been lovers for a long time. Garrett’s hands shifted but did not wander. He just kept the man close, not wanting to let him go while they continued kissing. Sebastian shifted once, only to get into a more comfortable position that he could hold for longer. No more clothing was removed. There was nothing lustful in their kisses. Just a deep need to be closer to each other.

Garrett was breathless when they finally parted and his face felt flushed but he wasn’t embarrassed. He just stared in wonder at the man of his dreams, literally a few times, who looked just as he imagined the priest would look after such a kiss. This would help nothing when he returned to the barracks and felt that spike of lust again once his mind had time to process everything but right now he didn’t care. “I am not sorry,” he said quietly, gently carding his fingers through soft auburn locks that were usually swept back, “and I cannot promise this will not happen again. But if you wish to send me away, to have me reassigned to another duty outside the Chantry, I will comply. I would no more want to harm you or make you uncomfortable with my presence than I would wish Tranquility upon my sister.”

“We should not do this,” Sebsastian answered just as quietly, his fingers tracing over the bandages he bound around Garrett’s body as if tracing his torso, “I made a vow to the Maker I would take no bride but Andraste but I…”

The priest sighed and sat back, his archer’s hands catching Garrett’s sword calloused ones. “I cannot help but want you, Ser Garrett. I have watched you for some time, since you first confessed to me and said that even if we could not be physically joined as one you would still walk by my side in the Maker’s Light as Andraste’s husband once walked with Her.”

“I would never betray you as he betrayed Her, Sebastian. He knew Her before the Maker and his jealousy rose out of a lack of understanding how deeply the Maker cared for his wife as She cared for the Maker and him. I am under no such illusion. Where he faltered I will not and will walk by your side into the Void itself if you so wish it.”

The hands holding his tightened for just a minute and Sebastian seemed to think on his words. He looked as if he was debating something with himself and without knowing what it was Garrett did not dare interrupt. Instead he focused on the hands holding his, memorizing the sensation of them. If he had well and truly lost his family to this, Bethany included for sure she blamed him for this failure as much as he blamed himself, he would need something to hold onto to anchor him in this world for even the mandates and duty of the Order could not hold him here if he had no one to protect from the dangers of evil magic.

“Perhaps this is why the Maker brought me here,” Sebastian whispered quietly, seemingly to himself as stared at the blanket that covered his small cot, “why He took away my family, had me stay within the Faith when Starkhaven fell into my simple cousin’s hands.” Blue eyes met Garrett’s almost shyly. “Maybe this is why He guided me to you and stirred these feelings within me that I haven’t known for years.”

Garrett swallowed nervously. “Which feelings?” He dared not hope. Not with his mother’s corpse barely cold.

Again Sebastian leaned forward and kissed him gently though his hands did not leave Garrett’s. The pair kept their hands together, neither moving to touch one another and they simply enjoyed the intimacy and gentle warmth of these new kisses. It was far from the perfect time. The horror he had been called to witness just now was still too fresh in Garrett’s mind to fully succumb to the feelings such gentleness stirred. He wanted to forget but knew that seeking that forgetfulness through lust would only delay the pain, not ease it. Maybe it was best that he came here, spent his time with Sebastian instead of returning to the barracks to endure this alone, taking what comfort was offered to him in the chaste affection and care of this priest.

Later, when he recited his nightly prayers at his bedside, he would likely ask Andraste for forgiveness for his selfishness but could not now. For now he cherished the kisses he was given and sought to give back as much comfort and affection as he could. Sebastian knew the pain of losing his family out of the blue. He had some idea of the ache and the hollowness. Garrett had only wished he had had the courage to do something like this for him then. Perhaps it would have soothed the grief he endured alone somewhat like it was helping the knight now.

They separated again and, mindful of his injured back, Garrett moved to lay down in the cot on his side and Sebastian did the same. They just lay there for a long while, just thinking, their focus on other things while they gently traced fingers over each other’s bodies idly and occasion stole a small chaste kiss because they could. It might have been awkward with Andraste watching over them but Garrett couldn’t help but feel like She was smiling that gentle knowing smile of a mother watching her children finally figure out what She had known all along. She might have been a warrior for the Maker, led the faithful against the Imperium and overthrew the tyrannical magisters of old, but she was still a woman and the mother of so many Children of the Maker since She became His bride. She and mother would get along beautifully, he thought, when they met by the Maker’s side.

He choked back a sob at the flash of the memory of her just lying on the filthy ground of that blood mage’s lair, in pain and fading, surrounded by the bodies of the demons, shades and abominations the monster had summoned and brokered deals with to create the twisted form of his wife he had. She deserved so much more. All the women that animal had captured and tortured did. He wondered if they would ever all be known or if some of them would be forgotten, thought to have just run away from home or the Circle (for surely mage blood had been used to allow that corpse to walk as it did).

Gentle fingers combed through his curly hair, releasing it from the hold of the pomade he used to keep the curls tamed and in place. He felt some of them fall around his ears. Only his father had curls like this. Carver and Bethany had both had their mother’s straight hair. Had he not been in the Order he likely would have let the curls grow out and tamed them in such a way to show off the difference like father had. But the Order was as much an army as the King’s and such displays of unnecessary vanity were strongly discouraged. He wondered if mother wished he had decided to grow out his hair at one point. She had told him several times he was the spitting image of his father. Maybe visiting her with his face would have made things easier as she grieved his loss.

“I wish you could stay here, Ser Garrett,” Sebastian whispered, his voice heavy with sleep, “but this is a cloister. The Sisters would grow suspicious and damaging rumors would spread of us both if you stayed.”

Yes, he understood. He could be expelled from the Order if he was caught corrupting a Brother of the Faith (as they would interpret it) and with the way his body was aching and burning without the lyrium in it, he would not last long outside the Order. He would not bring himself to beg in the streets no matter the pain and to be struck down or locked away in a sanitarium as a mad man as he lost his mind to withdrawal… No. He had heard too many stories of Brothers and Sisters who walked down that path. He would not die begging like an animal for someone, anyone to release him from the pain and the waking nightmare his life would become.

Reluctantly, Garrett got to his feet and carefully donned his clothes and armor again. The pressure of the gambeson hurt against the demon’s claw marks, the chainmail and the straps that lapped over them didn’t help either but he grit his teeth against the pain and endured. With his armor firmly in place and his sword and shield back where they belonged he turned to Brother Sebastian to thank him, not just for tending to his physical wounds but his broken heart as well. Sebastian was on his feet by then and offered to walk him out of the cloister, which he accepted. Just before they stepped outside though they exchanged one final kiss, a promise of support and affection that Garrett would hold onto and cherish in the dark weeks of morning ahead. 

“Should you need to speak with me about this, about anything, please do not hesitate,” Sebastian was saying quietly as they walked though it was clear the day was taking its toll on him too, “I may not wear the robes as much as I did but I am a Brother of the Faith. It is my duty to care for the flock as much as it is Elthina’s… and the one I care for especially so.”

Garrett didn’t smile. Couldn’t bring himself to return the sentiment in the open so instead when they were at the gate and it was opened for him he turned and clasped Sebastian’s forearm as if they were only friends and nothing more. Friendship between a priest and his Templar was tolerated at least. It was nothing like a mage and the knights assigned to watch them in the Circles or on their journeys beyond those tower walls. “Take care, Brother. May the Maker watch over you,” he said.

“And Andraste lend you Her strength in the dark times ahead.”

Yes, Garrett thought, fighting back the tears he felt building as he let go of the man’s arm, he would need Her strength to carry on more than ever.

He remained unmolested on his way to the docks where he found a ferryman about to make his last trip to the Gallows for the night. He paid his fee and let the man take him across without saying a word. There were a few Templars who were acting as the night guard in the Circle who seemed startled as he passed. He was confused as to why at first when he realized his armor and shield were still splattered with demonic ichor and human blood. He hadn’t noticed it before. He’d have to clean his armor before he slept tonight. It wouldn’t do to walk into the Chantry still covered in the blood of monsters.

He made his way to the barracks, where Ser Thrask, who by some miracle was still awake, seemed both glad to see him and deeply concerned. “Where we you? I thought something happened to do you again.” It both amused and made Garrett sigh that there was an “again” on the man’s statement as if he regularly sought the ills that befell him. The Maker simply tested his faith more often than others because he needed his resolve to hold his vows strengthened sometimes.

He began to undress again, keeping his eyes focused on the straps as he undid them. He hissed as his shield came away from his wounds but did not look at his roommate as he put it away properly. “My mother went missing. My uncle caught me on my way to the Gallows and I helped him search.”

“Is she alright? Did you find her?”

“I did but I was too late.”

Garett didn’t need to see the expression on the other man’s face as he put his sword away as well. He could almost feel the sympathy radiating from him. “She was taken by a maleficar and slaughtered so her face could be used to rebuild the face of the woman that monster lost some time ago. My mother died at the hands of a blood mage under my watch, Ser Thrask, and had I not stopped him she would not have been granted the peace to move on from this world.”

“Did you catch him?”

“I did. I slaughtered him and all the demons and shades he summoned and used to twist her and several other women into that unholy form. But even his death cannot undo what he has done.”

His gauntlets came off again and were set aside. He sat carefully to undo his boots and his vision became watery again. “I failed my family, Ser Thrask. I was not strong enough to save Carver during the Blight. Now my mother dies in front of me because I was not strong enough to protect her from a creature as tainted as any darkspawn.”

The boots came off just the bed shifted beside him and a gentle hand rested on his shoulders. Ser Thrask’s attempt at comfort was nothing like Sebastian’s. It felt more like father’s touch… at least what he remembered of it. The memory felt faint now that his whole body seemed to swing between numb and overwhelmed by emotion. “I am sorry for your loss,” Ser Thrask said softly and Garrett let his tears fall. He didn’t lean into the comforting touch, he had already done that once tonight and couldn’t bear to be weak again so soon. So he got to his feet quickly and finished undressing, carefully racking his armor so he could care for it after he washed his face and neck. He would try washing the rest of himself tomorrow.

He had just finished adjusting his bed clothes when a sharp call of his name behind him pulled him out of the emptiness of his thoughts. This was dangerous. He shouldn’t be so easily distracted. The nightmares that would come tonight he doubted would allow him much rest which would only compound the problem. “You should go to the infirmary when you get the chance, Ser Garrett. Your wounds have reopened.” 

“I will see to it in the morning.”

There was a shrug as the other knight left him alone though it was clear Ser Thrask felt uncomfortable doing so. Garrett paid him no heed and gathered his things to wash himself quickly. He didn’t have much time to get ready for bed, clean his armor and get what little sleep he could tonight. The water in the basin he used was new but cold. It startled his senses, woke him from his numbness a little bit, and cleaned his face of his tears. He was careful as he washed the pomade from his hair and fluffed the curls to dry overnight to act as if nothing was wrong. The other knights had either gone to bed or were on patrol but one never knew what nightmares would drive someone to have to use the privy in the middle of the night.

His cell was dim when he returned, lit only by a single candle in the corner by his armor. Next to it were the materials he needed to clean and polish it. Well, at least Ser Thrask had been kind enough to think of that before he turned in for the night. Garrett set to work then, focusing all his attention on getting the steel gleaming again as if earlier tonight had never happened. If only his memory could be so wiped clean. 

It took him almost an hour to finish, and when he was done he found the needle and thread in the kit and stitched together the torn cloth of his gambeson again. The chainmail needed repairs that he couldn’t do but this much he could put back together. The knight lieutenant would likely not notice it when he reported in for duty in the morning provided his gambeson was still in place. A healing potion in the morning would allow him to discard the obvious bandages though he would remain marked with his new scars.


	9. Invasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Qunari attack Kirkwall and Ser Garrett is reminded all too vividly of the battle of Denerim.

In hindsight perhaps it should have not been surprising when not long after mother’s death, after he had fallen in love with a man who would not, could not, be his to love and to cherish for the rest of his days at least where anyone could see, that things came to a head. Bethany was now a source of gossip in the Chantry, both for her role in representing the people of Kirkwall to the Qunari and thus the Viscount’s office and for the sheer gossip value of a mage Amell returning to the estate with an apostate lover.

He had kept his comments to himself as the Sisters chatted about it. Some of them thought that she should have been locked away in the Circle, regardless of her heritage, coin or position, just like every other mage. Some said she was proof that some mages should be allowed freer reign as she was clearly no threat to the way the people of Kirkwall lived. Yet even he did not know what she did with her time and efforts outside of being a diplomat to the Qunari peoples. How did she maintain the estate? Did she have a business?

With mother gone he had no reason to speak to her now. He knew she would only lash out with words and possibly magic and if she attacked him he would have no choice but to defend himself and if Anders got the wrong idea… well he didn’t relish the thought of being killed in his family’s home over such a misunderstanding. He had been permitted to be present in robes for his mother’s funeral, long black versions of the Chantry robes with the hood drawn low to represent a man in mourning. Bethany said nothing to him that day.

He spent the majority of his free time during the standard mourning period in prayer in some way, either in the chapel in the Gallows or within the Chantry itself while he waited for Sebastian to finish up so he could walk with the priest to the cloister and they could take the time to talk. He was still wearing the black band around his left wrist, the only symbol he was permitted of his mourning while on duty, when the first of the attacks came. He wouldn’t learn until much later what had triggered the Qunari’s sudden violent take over.

The knight lieutenant snapped orders but it was clear the man was only used to theory, not the practice of combat. Garrett wanted to take over, to give commands that he had seen and known would work against opponents that could give the darkspawn a run for their coin. But he did not have the authority to do anything of the sort to he stayed silent and let the man give the commands he thought were necessary. Unless something he commanded sounded drastically out of place, Garrett decided that he would trust in the wisdom of his superior officer.

The one thing he did not do, however, was don his helmet like the others had. He bore his shield a little higher to compensate and was glad that the Order had of late forced the knights to keep their martial skills intact. This would not be an easy battle to win and no one had the benefit of any real kind of warning. Most of the knights were told to protect the Chantry from outside. Some of the newly inducted knights were sent to find what survivors they could and guide them to the Chantry while the others held.

Garrett was kept in the latter party and he did all he could to focus on the here and now. Some of the knights around him whispered pieces of the Chant to calm themselves. He couldn’t see their faces through their helmets and their voices were muffled but he could hear more than a few notes of fear in a few of them. He wondered if this was the first bit of earnest combat for most of them. If so he hoped they would be able to bear the nightmares that would come after the inevitable bloodbath of a battle.

The knight lieutentant stayed within the Chantry with a few knights to keep those that were not outside holding the line calm in case the rest of them failed. A knight corporal was given charge of Garrett’s line of knights. He was young, younger than Garrett, and for a moment he wondered how the boy climbed in rank so quickly. He had known the Order of Kirkwall had more corruption in it that most but he hadn’t thought it extended that far. Still it wasn’t his place to question so he did not. The objective was simple enough to understand. 

People, civilians, swarmed around them, running for their lives for the Chantry. It unnerved him to see it was mostly women. He wondered where the men were. Then the screaming started. Garrett leapt forward as he watched a spear fly for someone, breaking formation, to knock it away. He didn’t look at the person he had saved. His attention was focused entirely on the Qunari warriors that stocked forward in the wake of these civilians. One bore more armor than the others and a quick glance over his shoulder showed one of their bound mages following closely behind the soldier.

“Shit,” he muttered as he stepped back to rejoin the formation, searching within himself for that place of focus and calm he had known back in Denerim, “Andraste watch over us all.” At least he could not fall ill to the Blight this time around. These creatures were no more poisonous than anyone else who stood against the Chantry in these dark times.

The knight sergeant told them to hold steady though his own voice shook. He wore his helmet. The words were almost too muffled to hear. Garrett didn’t need to hear the boy’s voice to know the order.

Spears were thrown at them from a distance. Some knights flinched toward them. Garrett felt his neighbor’s shield come up more than he saw it. But he kept his lyrium blue gaze focused on the warrior leader. This bastard was his. With him gone, the mage would be simple enough to eliminate. Qunari mages did nothing without the orders of a lead. He imagined the mage in this one’s company was no different. He hoped he was not wrong. He had enough of feeling the burn and taint of foul magic to last him a life time.

The Qunari warrior charged at them. Garrett braced behind his shield, angling it up so the blade the taller creature would inevitably try to bring down on his unprotected head would strike nothing but the steel of it. The weapon was heavier than he thought it would be and the strength behind it more powerful than anything he had tried to deflect yet. He could have sworn he felt the steel buckle and the shock of the force radiated up his arm. It was all he could do to keep to his feet. Some of the other knights around him did the same though a few didn’t have the strength to keep the blade from striking them. 

He heard their cries in the distance, all of his attention focused in glancing off the powerful blade. He tried to stab around his shield and still hold the pressure off but couldn’t quite manage it without losing his balance. Someone swiped at the warrior from behind him, making him turn his attention elsewhere just long enough for Garrett to step out of the blade’s way and let it fall to the side safely. He made a mental note to avoid being caught like that again. 

The warrior turned his attention back onto Garrett and the knight drew a deep breath before taking his ready stance again. All around him he heard the clatter of steel against steel, the cries of those that were struck and the screams of civilians trying to get around the fighting to safety within the Chantry. Yet he made himself ignore those sounds and focused everything he was on his enemy. This was his chance to vent his grief and if he had his way, the only way this creature would be leaving his battle would be with his untimely death.

The Qunari watched him for a moment. “You fight well, _basra_ ,” he said, his Common broken sounding and twisted, “perhaps you will be a challenge at last.”

The warrior lowered its shield and charged at him. Garrett knew he didn’t have the strength to hold it back so he waited until the last moment to step out of the way, spinning on his heel to bring his weapon down upon its back. But even with as little armor as it wore, the sharp steel did little. It cut but not deep and the Qunari’s reaction was quicker than he anticipated. It twisted with its own weapon, slashing at him and managing to cut at the skirt of his gambeson, thankfully not finding metal.

He had to think and quickly. This wasn’t some mindless creature. The warrior was intelligent and was both stronger and larger than he was. It was quick too though perhaps not as quick as he was. At least he hoped not. Templar talents would not do him any good against an opponent who did not wield the power of the Fade. Yet he could not stay on the defensive. He needed to find a strategy and quickly.

The Qunari came at him, blade swinging quickly and heavily. He dodged it a few times, glanced it away the rest, still trying to think and searching for an opening he could take to save himself and possibly his fellow knights, or at least those who still stood. He turned away from the pillar the warrior tried to back him into, letting him hit the stone with his weapon before Garrett thrust his blade with all of his strength into the Qunari’s side. It sank in this time, almost to the hilt and the powerful scream of the creature rang loudly in his ears before he kicked his opponent away and picked up the Qunari’s blade instead of his own. It was buried too deeply in thick skin to be wrestled out quickly and there was no time to dawdle in battle. 

The warrior tried to struggle to its feet but Garrett ran the Qunari through its heart with its own blade. He barely waited for it to still before he turned his attention back to the fight and more specifically the _Saarebas_ he felt gathering power for a spell that would no doubt be as devastating to the unprepared as the warrior’s blade had been. He was too far away to Silence the mage so he gathered his will to Smite it. But the mage had had more time to gather its magic than he had his will. It beat him to the punch and he had to roll out of the way to avoid being electrocuted by the ball of lighting it had conjured not far from where he stood. Many of its own and his Brothers were not so lucky. The smell of burning flesh turned his stomach. He prayed he would never get used to it.

The spell cast, Garrett had his chance. It would take such a mage, especially one without a staff to focus its power, time to gather more magic for another spell of such power. He charged at the massive chained creature, unleashing a war cry he hadn’t used since his time in Ferelden. He might have thought he saw the mage blink in surprise had he been paying attention to its face rather than the torso where he had been focused on throwing all his weight and strength behind. Even a huge creature as it was stumbled a bit upon impact.

Garrett took the opportunity to stab at the mage from where he was ducked behind his shield before he could regain its focus and this time his blade cut deep with ease. Perhaps later he could investigate the kind of metal these blades were made from. It would do the Order some good to have actually effective weapons against foreign heretics. The mage growled at him and tried to throw fire at him but Garrett was ready. He ducked behind his shield and pushed his will over the metal to keep the flames from melting the steel to his arm.

He heard the boy commander cry out in the distance just as the flames ceased, the mage no doubt tired and Garrett leapt out from underneath his shelter to cut the mage where his armor and chains left him vulnerable. It tore the stitches that were used to seal its mouth closed as it screamed and fell, one massive hand trying to keep its intestines still within its body. It would not take long for it to die, not with the blood that stained the stones around it and the pain of the wound should keep the mage unfocused enough to prevent its use of magic.

Garrett turned away from the mage and tried to find the boy commander, only to find him crumpled with a few different spears through him. Well. That didn’t last overly long and if nothing was done soon, the rest of the Guardians would join them. They hadn’t been numerous to begin with. Each loss was hitting them hard. So now it was up to him. He had lead them, despite not being the oldest nor the strongest.

However he needed to think and there just wasn’t time. What would he have done in Denerim? Perhaps if he thought of these creatures like Ogres, massive and powerful but little more than powerhouses, he could find a weakness? Few of the Order were trained in how to manipulate a pole arm though. Garrett could remember some of the techniques from before he joined the Order, uses of a staff if case an enemy came too close and one was exhausted of magic, but they were vague. Better than nothing he supposed and the men needed to use weapons they were familiar with. 

He cut down one of the Qunari with spears from behind and handed the knight that had been fighting it his sword. “Their own blades cut through their flesh easier,” he said as he grabbed one of the spears and tested its balance in his hand. He couldn’t use his shield and the pole arm. He didn’t have the balance for it. He’d have to find someone to keep his shield while he fought, preferably someone that had lost his own shield. He’d rather not hand the enemy anything remotely useful in battle he could avoid it.

The knight he handed his sword to leapt back into the fray and Garrett slipped around a few more pairs fighting until he found one of the smaller knights stumble and have his shield knocked away. It was a challenge to balance his grip on the spear enough to stab it through the Qunari’s heart from behind but he managed it and knocked the larger body away from the fallen knight. “Get up,” he ordered and handed the knight his shield as soon as he got to his feet, “find a Qunari sword and use it. Their blades cut deeper.”

The winded knight looked confused but nodded and Garrett whirled the spear a little in his hand, trying to remember how this worked just as another Qunari came at him. Keeping the blade aimed toward the ground and his feet apart for balance, Garrett let the creature come until it was just within reach of the blade and slashed upward, startling his opponent into stepping back. He used the momentum of the swing to step forward and turn to stab, now with both hands in the spear at its abdomen which it side stepped and came at him. He barely thought about how he handled the spear, to knock it away and retake his original stance. Perhaps that was the secret. He just had to not think and it would come to him naturally again.

He shut off his mind then, stopped thinking and let instinct take over. Later he would remember pieces of the battle but not in detail. He remembered barking commands to his fellow knights, shouting weaknesses and encouragement for those that still stood but what exactly he said he couldn’t remember. The battle didn’t last much longer. In the distance, Garrett could remember feeling the prickle of magic that felt familiar but there hadn’t been time to think about it. When all the Qunari that came to collect the people within the Chantry were defeated there had been no reinforcements. The sounds of battle were fading and distant and although he was tempted to go help whomever was left fighting the Chantry still needed the knight’s protection. 

He barked orders for the few remaining knights, no more than six left of their original dozen, to resume their earlier formation at the steps of the Chantry in case any more Qunari attempted to take their place of worship. Slowly he came back to himself as they waited though nothing more came to attack them. His skin felt sticky with blood, his muscles burned from where they were used and abused with the strain of battle, despite the training the Order had insisted on emphasizing while tensions still rose as they had. Still he was ready to fight more if he needed to. This handful of enemies was nothing. He just needed to keep reminding himself of this. He had endured worse and would endure as long as he needed to fulfill his duty as he had sworn.

Perhaps two hours later, he wouldn’t know as the smoke from where parts of the city burned blotted out the sunset, a messenger from the viscount’s keep told them that the battle was over. “The Arishok is dead,” the elf said as he fought from breath, no doubt winded by the run, “Mistress Amell defeated him in a duel to the death. The Qunari have surrendered and left Kirkwall.” Mistress Amell? Bethany?

“Is she alright?” he asked without thinking, “Was she badly wounded?”

The elf looked surprised at the question. “She looked like she was uninjured. Winded and tired maybe.”

Garrett hadn’t known he had tensed up until he felt relief wash over him like a bucket of warm water in a bath. “Thank you. I will inform the knight lieutenant.”

The elf nodded and ran off, no doubt to inform the next group of wary soldiers of what had happened. Garrett turned to the remaining knights who looked exhausted but hopeful. “We have won,” he told them, “but our duty is not yet done.” He asked a pair of the stronger knights to start gathering the fallen guardians while the not as strong knights were to remove their helmets and identify them. The knights saluted and went about this task as if Garrett had always been their commander. It felt good but also a bit disheartening. He saw their compliance for what it was, lost men who had no idea what to do next but to follow orders.

He returned to the Chantry, casting the spear he carried aside, and knocked on the heavy doors in a pattern he remembered the Order in Ferelden used to signify safety. He heard a muffled voice ask his name and the situation. Garrett answered as loudly as he dared then recited a part of the Chant that spoke of peace. It worked to get the knight in question to unbar the doors and let him inside to face the knight lieutenant and the civilians gathered. All at once he felt a little self-conscious about his blood soaked armor and the tattered state of the long hem of his gambeson. He didn’t miss the horror that reflected in the eyes of some of the women when the thoughtlessly tried to wipe some of the enemy’s blood from his face and just ended up smearing it.

He stayed near the entrance for the lieutenant to come forward. “What is the status outside?”

“The battle is over. The Arishok has been defeated. The Qunari have left the city. What knights remain of the Guardians are gathering those that fell and are identifying them as we speak.”

“How many fell?”

“Six dead. Two more wounded but I believe they will live.”

“What of Knight Sergeant Lukas?”

“Dead, Sir. He felt partway through.”

The lieutenant sighed, seemingly lost with the information Garrett had given him and for a moment the Hawke felt bad for being this messenger. But the fight was over and could have been worse. A quick glance over the officer’s shoulder sparked an idea. “If I may, Ser, might I recommend keeping the children and those with weaker stomachs inside for now? The men and I will clear the street as best we can to avoid giving them nightmares.” There wasn’t much that could be done about the blood but the bodies could at least be moved out of sight or covered. Then there was the matter of deciding what to do with the bodies of the Qunari. What even were their funeral rites like if they had any? Surely the Qun had something.

The knight lieutenant studied his face for a moment then sighed and nodded. “Go ahead, Ser Garrett. I’ll send those we do not need in here now to help you. Perhaps some of the Sisters can tend to the wounded knights while the rest of you work?” 

“Sounds agreeable Ser.”

“Then it is done.”

Garrett saluted the man then turned on his heel to step outside. The sun long gone now -when had it gotten so dark?- and one of the knights had taken to lighting the sconces around the square to provide light while they worked. The six fallen knights were all lined up, their hands folded neatly on their breastplates, their eyes closed and their helmets over their hands. The way they were arranged hid the worse of their wounds but there was no mistaking them for being asleep. They were all too pale for that. At least the knights had thought to leave their faces uncovered. Let those who left the Chantry tonight see the faces of those who died to protect them.

The couple of knights that were injured traded places with a pair of new knights from within the Chantry and together the small group of men carefully pulled and tugged and lifted qunari bodies out of sight. They were not laid out as carefully as the fallen knights but they were granted some sort of dignity. More than most victims of the Qunari from what Garrett had understood of them though that too may have been falsehoods spread by the people who feared them and wished to spread their fear and hatred onto others.

The knights were almost done when Bethany stepped into the square, Anders, Varric and Brother Sebastian in tow. The elf had been right. She looked none the worse for wear though she did lean pretty heavily on Anders. Garrett didn’t care right this moment if the others saw him talking to his sister. She had just saved them. Let them try to arrest her now.

He hugged her as tightly as he dared, uncaring of the blood that splattered his armor still and she hugged him just as tightly. He thanked the Maker she made it out of there okay and swore loud enough for her to hear he would never leave her to fight such a battle alone again. “You are more important than any Order.” He meant it.


	10. Three Years Wiser

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three years pass and things change. Ser Garrett is promoted to Knight Lieutenant and takes on the responsibilities of being the head of security of the Chantry and the Grand Cleric while tensions between mages and Templars burn hotter than ever.

Years passed. Ser Garrett was promoted first to knight sergeant then, when the knight lieutenant retired, into his position. He found his place easily as knight lieutenant. The men remembered what he did, how many he saved, and followed him with respect, some more begrudgingly than others. The Grand Cleric, although sad to see the knight lieutenant retire, was glad that he could take the time to set Garrett’s mind at ease with what happened. She seemed to like him well enough to talk to him personally more often than he had seen her speak alone with the previous lieutenant.

Maybe it was because of his ties to the Champion of Kirkwall as Bethany was called now. The mage hero that saved the city frightened some and encouraged boldness in what few apostates still lived outside Templar rule. Even with the recent Qunari uprising, tensions between mages and Templars kept rising so perhaps she thought she could use him and his ties to his sister to show the people that Templars and mages could work together, were meant to work together, for the greater good. In many ways, Garrett wished that he could help her more but the ties he had with Bethany were strained. That Warden of hers still ranted against the Order and with the tensions currently running rampant, his ranting could easily become the spark of the next fire of Kirkwall.

The Knight Commander’s stricter treatment of the mages of the Circle and her orders on the treatment of apostates found within the cities were hitting new levels of extreme. Apostates were now to be killed on sight. Families of mages were no longer considered innocents and were fair game for torture and murder if the need arose. Garrett was glad that mother had passed before it came to this. Gamlen wasn’t close enough to either of them to be a viable form of leverage. Gamlen would no sooner try to protect her as she would him. 

But as the Knight Templar in charge of the Guardians of the Faith, there was no torture he or his men were involved in that he knew of. They watched the Chantry closely not for mages specifically but for suspicious behavior. The Gallows was too obvious and too difficult to strike a target for the few apostates still running free. As far as he knew, there was no central location for the mage movement. The murmurs of a mage underground were shushed and hidden well.

If it was dangerous to walk home at night by himself with the Qunari in the city it was all the more dangerous now. This time he could fight back, though, as those that attacked him with the intent to kill were mages and usually blood mages at that. He had not forgotten that the monster that butchered his mother was a blood mage. With every one of them that he fought he imagined they were monsters just like that man had been, that if he did not put them down that others would be taken like his mother had. 

His walks to the cloister with Brother Sebastian became less frequent with his newer duties. He had to ensure the Grand Cleric got back to her rooms safely first and foremost, so if Sebastian accompanied them it was out of his duty as a Brother and close personal friend of Elthina. They rarely spoke to each other during such walks but even they kept it civil and friendly, never revealing just how deep their relationship truly ran. At least not on the surface. If she saw anything in the way they were a little too overly casual she said nothing.

But as soon as she was in her rooms, safe and sound, and Sebastian offered to walk Garrett out of the cloister –to ensure the safety of the Sisters of course- they would end up in his rooms, kissing deeply as they had before though never anything further than that. Their kissing was more about affection and gentle kindness than anything sexual. Their hands never strayed into anything unseemly though they did hold each other close once they had removed their own armor for comfort. This, more than anything, assured Garrett that what they meant to each other was pure.

Sometimes he would stay with the priest into the morning, kissing him until they fell asleep together in the cot, only rising just before dawn when most of the Sisters would be getting up and getting ready for their daily preparation and rites. Other times he would stay for an hour at the most, just needing to reaffirm his love for the priest, even if they would never join their bodies together as one as proper lovers would. He took comfort in the fact Sebastian would sometimes bring him into the cell out of his own need rather than just reach for Garrett when the knight needed strength. They relied on each other as much as they placed their trust in the Maker and His Bride. Perhaps it was backward from the way the Chantry wanted the faithful to place their trust but it worked for them and in the moment wasn’t that more important? Surely Andraste would understand.

Thus far they had not been caught and with Garrett now as a Knight Lieutenant he had more liberties than he had a regular knight. No one questioned his absence from the barracks in the night. If anything his roommate was probably glad that he was gone so often and didn’t think to question it. No longer was his roommate Ser Thrask. Meredith began to separate the divisions of her Order within the barracks, though why she did he couldn’t fathom. Maybe to test their resolve? To separate the knights who she needed to maintain control of the Circle from those who saw the people and thus were influenced by outside sources? She became paranoid of any dissention. Her orders were supposed to be absolute as if she was the Maker herself within the Order. Garrett was uneasy with the idea.

It was not a surprise when word reached the Grand Cleric that, once again, First Enchanter Orsino was calling for action against the Order and Knight Commander Meredith had all but engaged him in a battle of wit in Hightown. What did surprise Garrett was that this time she decided to intervene and as was his position as the Knight Lieutnant of the Chantry, he had to accompany her at the very least. He went to don his helmet just before they left but she stopped him. “This is just a debate, Ser Garrett. No need for full armor today.”

He doubted even then that that was all it was but he trusted her word. With such a public display and the leaders of both mages and the Order in the immediate vicinity he doubted someone would attack the neutral party but just in case he took an extra vial of lyrium and stashed it within his pouches before they headed out with the kindly old woman toward the open area where the messenger said the debate was happening. In all honesty, Garrett would have been surprised if the Grand Cleric chose a side. She knew both sides too well.

By the time they got there, their full on argument was turned down into a debate that seemed, so far, to avoid coming to blows but just barely. Bethany did an admirable job of avoiding picking sides too. She even said, at the very end, that she thought neither side was right. Good. She thought beyond herself and saw the city for what it was. The Order was perpetually wearing mourning clothes. Every day there was word of more knights falling to cruel fates at the hands of mages and even more mages and their families whose blood stained the swords of once holy knights.

Funerals were common place now in the evening. Not a day went by that there wasn’t a pyre burning just outside the city nor a single service where an entire family was not donning the black of formal mourning attire. It was all Garrett could do to focus exclusively on his duties with so much death in his face every day, men and women who suffered for a war that they had no part in. It would do no one any good to run off and slaughter those responsible on both sides. More death would only hurt everyone involved.

The Grand Cleric didn’t attend all the funerals. She had her own delicate balance to maintain and many evenings Garrett acted as her bodyguard more than anything though he did, on occasion, voice his opinion on certain matters when it was asked of him. Brother Sebastian spent a lot of time in these meetings too as he was on the street with the people more often than they were, walking with Bethany and seeing to both her safety and the safety of those she walked with while that group did their best to save the most people possible caught in this war.

“I would ask that you accompany us sometime,” Sebastian told him one night when they were alone together in his cell, “but Bethany worries about how that kind of thing would sour your reputation and with more mages being made Tranquil for the slightest crimes she worries what would be done to you if Meredith were to learn you were working with a pair of apostates regardless of the mission we’re out to accomplish.”

Through Brother Sebastian, Garrett listened to make sure Bethany was okay and in return he did all he could to keep the Grand Cleric and the rest of the Sisters under his watch safe. He complied with Elthina’s every order to him, only protesting when his experience told him that her orders would do nothing but harm her, the Sisters or stir tensions more. He was glad that she respected him enough when he spoke to at the very least explain her reasoning rather than pulling rank. She was very much the gentle mother caring for her flock. The Maker chose well to call her to the service. 

He was not there when the Grand Cleric and Brother Sebastian asked Bethany to meet the Left Hand of the Divine in the Viscount Keep’s at night. He would only learn about it later when Brother Sebastian came back to ask the Grand Cleric to leave for fear of an Exalted March called upon the broken city of Kirkwall. He wanted to voice his agreement but he didn’t have enough information to truly say which was the better choice in the matter. This was primarily politics, a subject which he had never been well versed in and he doubted he would ever be well versed in. He may be an officer now but he was a Knight of the Order. Such worldly concerns were supposed to be beneath him now. That and as common born he doubted he would be the knight that would called upon should such matters arise in the future that needed the Order’s recommendation.

It was after that discussion, after Bethany and her husband-in-all-but-name left, that Sebastian approached Garrett and with barely any pretense pulled him aside and into his office. Garrett hadn’t thought to question it until they were inside and the door was locked and checked for gaps. This behavior was especially suspicious from the priest so he questioned it and Sebastian motioned for him to stay quiet until he was certain of whatever it was he was looking for. Meredith may have been paranoid but this took it to a new level it seemed. Who did Sebastian think was listening to them? What did he have to say that was so dangerous to have to resort to this? “What is going on, Brother? Why all the secrecy?”

When Sebastian was done he rounded on Garrett and pulled him into a sharp kiss that had little affection and warmth but desperation and more than a little despair. Still the knight allowed it, trying to soften the bruising kiss but the kiss didn’t last long enough to effectively prove or disprove his support. “Sebastian? What’s wrong?” He bit off the words ‘my love’ that wanted to tumble off his tongue. This was not the time or place to express such sentimentality, not when it was clear that Sebastian’s paranoia meant someone likely was indeed trying to listen. “What is going on?”

“I fear your sister’s lover is going to do something drastic,” he said, “he is becoming unstable. She has confided in me that something is different and wrong. When she tries to protest his more extreme views that demon within him pushes through and she fears for her safety. I’ve tried to tell her that it is not safe to be with such an abomination, much less walk with one, but she will not listen.”

This was precisely what Garrett had been worried about when he first met the unusual apostate with a dislike for the Order. But if he was an abomination, surely he would not be so in control? Demons could not be contained within a human form and they knew it. They warped the body they possessed with their sin, much like the Corruption twisted and broke those who succumbed to it, to create a form almost as grotesque as the monsters themselves. Either this demon within him was immensely powerful or the mage had taken in a spirit of some kind and corrupted it with his own emotions over time. Maybe the Blight itself had corrupted the spirit, twisted it into not-quite a demon in nature.

“What would you have me do, Sebastian? Hunt him? I cannot face the man alone, even if it is my right as her brother to challenge and kill any man who would dare.” But he could not inform Meredith or the Hunters of Anders either for they would take it as an opportunity to raid the Amell Estate and slaughter both Anders and Bethany… assuming the Hunters themselves were not butchered in the process and thus escalate matters all the more. He doubted he could speak reasonably to the creature within Anders. Spirits nor demons had ever been reasonable entities.

“I fear he plans to attack the Chantry, Garrett. I don’t know how or what kind of unholy magic he has at his disposal but that maleficar has something planned.”

“If you know this for certain, why not tell the Grand Cleric? If you can find out more, perhaps an exact date or a time when he plans for this attack, I can have the knights prepared and the clerics evacuated…”

“He does not speak of his plans. Not even to Bethany. It would be impossible to learn of them that way.”

Garrett sighed and stepped away from Sebastian, running a hand through his hair as he thought carefully on what to do. It was his responsibility to Guard the Faith, protect the priests within the Maker’s House. Yet how could he do so when it was clear there was a threat but not the where or the when? The knights were already on alert, as per Meredith’s orders. Normally that would be enough. But with such a man, if he did something suspicious, would the knights think to question him? Could he manipulate the power of the spirit to erase their memories of what he did or kill them?

He needed to know more about what that demon within Anders could and could not do but without seeing it in combat, watching the mage fight with the spirit reaching through him, he could not fathom the kind of power it could wield. “What school does Anders use in combat usually?” That might denote the type of spirit and thus the power it might have at its command. If he remembered correctly, back when father was teaching all his children of magic before Bethany was known to be the only mage of the three of them, spirits embodied emotion. The stronger the emotion, the more powerful the spirit. 

“He is namely a healer but I have seen him transfer our wounds to his own body to keep us on the battlefield. He has outright collapsed after a battle a few times as the spirit drained him of all magic and began to burn through the rest of his strength.”

A determined spirit then. Something that pushed toward a goal. That could be a few things. Devotion? No. That sort of spirit would stay by Bethany’s side, not reject her attempts to keep it from going through with whatever this plan was. Anders was too angry the last time they spoke for Devotion to have come to him to begin with, too pushy. What could be laced with anger and still driven to a cause? What emotion had no qualms about killing and destruction to reach a goal? Maker, just trying to think about this was giving Garrett a headache.

He was careful as he pinched the bridge of his nose to fend off the one currently building in his head as to avoid scratching his eyes with his gauntlets. “I need to look into this more closely,” he said softly, “in the meantime I will warn the knights to be wary of Anders and Bethany should they walk into the Chantry together. We’ll have to be careful how we do this. The people of Kirkwall both praise and fear my sister. If she has no part in his plan, whatever it is, and is actively trying to stop it, we cannot risk entangling her in the fallout should, despite our best efforts, he succeed with his lunacy.” 

“She is a mage.”

“She is my sister. The only family I have left. If she remains merely an apostate, she will live.”

“And if she does not?”

Garrett had more than one nightmare about such an outcome but for the good of the people of Kirkwall, he had little choice. “If she shows herself a maleficar, blood mage or no, she will be put down.” Maker forgive him but if anyone had to strike his sister down he could only hope it would be him to do it. He could at least make it as painless as humanly possible. She deserved that much, even if she did stray so far from the Maker’s light as to consort with whatever her fiancé was.

His words seemed to assure Sebastian and Garrett was glad that Sebastian was aware of how heavy such a decision would weigh on him. Garrett wondered if Sebastian had ever had to have a similar choice in his life or not. He didn’t know much of the Brother’s life before his time in the Chantry other than the fact that he was a son of Starkhaven and the last of his family’s line now that they had been executed. He had already taken his vows but would he still hold them if he returned to Starkhaven to become Prince again?

“I will do what I can to learn more,” Sebastian promised, “but they are wary of me.”

Of course they would be. They knew full well whom he was. But perhaps there was another of the companions who was less obvious in their allegiances on the matter who could learn more? “What of Varric? From what I understand he is as close to a spymaster as any of her companions.” Given how he wrote Hard in Hightown Garrett would have been surprised if he turned out to be wrong. The pirate woman might be ambiguous too but Garrett wasn’t so certain he was willing to pay her price for the information. 

Sebastian hummed in thought as he looked around the office, either trying to think or to keep his attention off of the knight lieutenant or both. There had to be some kind of solution but in so short a time they did not have much to work with. So, having done all he could with Sebastian on the matter, Garrett unlocked his office door and said over his shoulder “If you have any further need of my assistance, Brother, do not hesitate to ask.” As if there was another.

Garrett returned to his duties though he had to force himself to focus on the task at hand. Any thoughts of what could go wrong and how a mage as powerful as Anders could and would attack the Chantry had to be shoved out of his thoughts if he was to make it seem as if he knew nothing of it. He did not literally have eyes and ears everywhere. If he acted out of the norm and either mage saw it they might get suspicious and change their plan into something he could not hope to adequately prepare for.

He might have put a little too much effort into his façade though. He was not usually a calm and collected officer now a days. With Meredith breathing down his neck and Orsino pushing tensions as he did –though Garrett was certain his calls for action were not entirely unfounded- if he was not on edge then he simply wasn’t paying attention. The fact that he was today seemed to unnerve his second in command, who asked him if he had suddenly come down with something. Ser Janus was kind young lady, so much so she didn’t fit anywhere else.

“I am alright,” he assured her after he finished his usual rounds of checking with each of his knights to be sure they hadn’t seen anything unusual since his last check, “just a bit tired perhaps. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten a decent night’s sleep.” It wasn’t entirely a lie but he wasn’t exactly telling her the truth either. He slept restlessly but not racked with nightmares. It was as if there was something in the officer’s quarters in the Templar barracks gently prodding at the back of his mind… not a spirit but something else. Something familiar…

“Would you like to return to the barracks? I’m sure we can keep watch today. There haven’t been many visitors and the Sisters look like they’ll be going home early.”

“No, it’s alright. I cannot, in good conscience, abandon my post for something like this. I will endure. It is no hardship.”

She didn’t leave his office immediately when he took his seat like she usually did though. Instead she seemed to think for a second longer than usual before she left and came back a few moments later with a tray of tea. Normally Garrett didn’t drink the stuff so why she had a tea set already made up for him was a good question. Had she made tea for herself during her break and simply not had time for it yet? Their days were tedious ones, if not busy.

“I hope you don’t mind, Ser,” she said as she set it on a smaller table across from his bookcase of religious texts and handbooks of the Order were kept, “I thought that maybe you could use some tea as a pick me up. I had almost forgotten I made some for that very reason earlier.” 

Tea as a pick me up? He had only heard of tea to calm the mind and soothe a troubled person into sleep. But maybe coffee had too much energy for her. She was an energetic person already. Add caffeine to her and she would be bouncing off the walls even in her armor. While that might make a comical sight he doubted though that it would be good for morale.  
She handed him his tea and gently tapped it with her own. “To another day done!”

It wasn’t quite done but alright. “To another day done.” He didn’t remember finishing the cup.


	11. In the Land of Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ser Garrett, trapped in the Fade, sees the future he wants most. But he knows the Fade and its lies... no matter how tempting.

Despite not being a mage, Garrett knew when he opened his eyes that he was in the Fade. There was nothing else quite like the land of dreams where nothing made sense and yet perfect sense all at once. Yet something was wrong this time. He didn’t often remember his dreams, either entering or leaving them. The fact that he was even aware that he was here was unusual. Had something happened? How did he get here? The last thing he remembered was taking tea with Ser Janus in the Chantry… the tea. She had laced the tea. But why?

It startled him when he reached to touch his face that he was not in his armor nor in his Chantry robes but in something else completely. Civilian clothes? Something like them but not like the fashions he had seen at home nor in Kirkwall. A quick look at his surroundings revealed nothing. The Fade was obviously outside the window of the ornate bedroom he was in that looked Orleasian by design. Certainly fancier than anything he would have been issued by the Order. He was dreaming of luxury? Of the life he might have had his family remained nobility?

The door to the bedroom swept open and a creature not unlike an elf swept into the room. She looked familiar but the elf’s eyes were too big even by their standard and the ears were exaggerated. A phantom of one then. Someone, or something, that had never truly seen an elf before was trying to mimic one based on the human perception of them. Well that was at least some clue as to what was going on. “His Highness wanted to see you, Master Garrett, when you awoke,” the elf said with some confidence though she averted her gaze.

He acknowledged her word and waited until she left before he stood and went to stand before a mirror. The clothes he was in suited him but at the same time were too fine a material for anything he would willingly choose for himself. A white tunic with a high collar under a blue waist coat that popped the color of his eyes. Around the collar was a dove grey tie, fastened in place in some way he knew he didn’t know how to tie, and the leggings were of the same color until they met white stockings which ended in a pair of sturdy black leather shoes. 

He tugged at the waistcoat absently, trying to understand what the material was made from and why he wore it but the flash of something shiny on his left had caught his eye. A silverite band, adorned with stately symbols and engraved –though the writing was too small to read without removing the ring- sat comfortably on his left ring finger. It didn’t look ornamental yet he barely noticed its presence despite being unaccustomed to wearing a ring. Huh. So according to the dream he had worn it for a while then. 

That would explain the strands of silver in his hair and the way his face was lined. So he was dreaming of the future, or how he thought the future would be. It might have disturbed him to see his father’s face in the mirror if he hadn’t already known he was an almost copy of the man already. Yet if this was supposed to be the future, where was he? And who was this Highness that called on him? He stepped out of the bedroom and was barely surprised to see the elf-ish thing still there waiting for him.

It lead him down a couple of long hallways that were completely unfamiliar to his eyes and yet felt totally familiar to his mind. This was why Garrett hated the Fade when he was here in his dreams and at least somewhat aware of what was going on. But surely if he was aware of the dream he could make himself wake up? He wasn’t a mage. He shouldn’t be this ware of the place. But try as he might he couldn’t pull himself out of this dream. Something was keeping him here. The poison that laced the tea maybe?

If the elf noticed the building rumble with Garrett’s attempts to awaken from the dream, it said nothing and the pair of them continued on into a stateroom where a familiar figure sat on a throne, dressed in fine clothes but not robes and donning the circlet of a ruler. He seemed annoyed, bored even, and even from here Garrett knew that the figure was not whom it was represented to be. Sebastian’s eyes were a beautiful blue but not so bright that they glowed like that. And while he was confident he was not proud like this Prince was.

Whatever the issue that was brought before him by the pair of nobles arguing loudly but indistinctly was settled as and as soon as it was they, along with the other nobles gathered left the throne room all together, presumably to go back to whatever it was they were doing before. This… this must be what the spirits knew Starkhaven to be. The architecture was nothing like anything Garrett had seen in Kirkwall nor Ferelden. He wondered how much of it was based off reality or if most of it was pieces of memories stitched together for the dream’s sake.

“Garrett!” Prince Sebastian exclaimed when he saw him and ran down the steps of his throne to embrace him. Garrett was surprised by the sudden weight against him but hugged the figure of his love back tightly. Even with the too blue eyes the body in his arms felt familiar and wore the same faint scents of the incense used in the Chantry. Perhaps the excuse here was that he found peace in prayer and kept up with it? Did it honestly matter? It was nothing but a dream and a dream was nothing but that to a non-mage.

After a long moment Sebastian leaned back and instead pulled him into a fiery kiss the likes of which they had yet to indulge in the real world. He felt happiness in the way their lips met, no little passion and the faint fires of lust in them both. If this kiss took place in the real world he would have kept his end of the kiss chaste in respect to Sebastian’s vows but here, with the wedding band on his hand, he let the thread of lust guide his actions. He pulled his husband closer with a warrior’s strength.

He let his lips trail Sebastian’s jaw when they separated, placing delectable kisses onto the man’s neck as he tilted his head to allow the touch. The light laugh that followed sounded off, an echo but not the true thing, yet he ignored it. If it was a demon in place of his love it would reveal itself and he would gladly destroy it. It honestly was the best course of action to indulge this image of Sebastian in what they clearly both wanted. He just couldn’t lose himself to the desire burning so sharply in his blood even now.

“Three days with a fever and this is what you want to do when you wake? Honestly, Garrett, I had not thought I had married such a wanton man once you were freed from the Order’s rules and vows.” 

Ah. So in this dream he was separate from the Order? Well he supposed he would have to be if he lived with royalty in their home and was married to a prince. The Order was not meant to be involved in politics yet such a union could be nothing if not political, even if it was an unintended side effect.

Yet as he pulled away from his husband to watch his smiling face, lined as Garrett’s was with the odd strand of grey in that soft auburn hair, Garrett couldn’t help but feel content. Happy even. He had joined the Order to protect the people against the threat of magic. He had served faithfully for so long. Didn’t he deserve a little happiness before he lost his mind to lyrium that was slowly poisoning him every day? He wasn’t blind to it. No knight in their right mind could ignore the evidence of what would happen to them in time.

Did he still take lyrium in this dream? Or had he found some way to slip its grasp? He could not tell. To have such an obvious weakness would not do a noble –for that was what he was now even if he was only the prince-consort of Starkhaven- of royal rank and seemed counterproductive but did it really matter in this dream? It wasn’t as if he would have contend with the matter outside of the Fade. Sebastian would not leave the Chantry. Even if he did and Garrett resigned from the Order to be with him, they couldn’t marry.

“I just missed you,” he said after a long moment, running his fingers through the still soft auburn hair, “Three days is a long time without you by my side.” He imagined in an effort to save the Prince from possibly falling victim to the same illness he would have been kept away until now. It was only logical and the thing that wore Sebastian’s face caught on quickly to his line of thinking. It was at once disturbing and comforting to see. The real Sebastian would have caught on just as quickly after all. A rogue was no fool.

“You are right but surely this could have waited until we were out of the throne room. Unless you want to give the guards a little show?”

The way he spoke it was as if they had done such a thing before. So the creature with Sebastian’s face was a creature of desire then. Only they were so unashamed. His beloved would not have wanted to share such an intimate moment with an audience of any kind, no matter where they were relative to his station. The Sebastian he knew had tempered from such things after he became a priest.

“I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you, _demon_ ,” he hissed in the figure’s ear, his fingers holding on roughly to the soft, thick hair though he kept his eyes on the guards, “but it is a nice try. Too bad I am no mage nor some hapless recruit too inexperienced to see you for what you really are.” He would have willed a blade into existence –as he vaguely recalled Bethany describing to him how mages could call things into being in the Fade- to strike through the body in his arms had it not started laughing.

“What gave me away?” it purred, the figure shifting shape. Garrett had to move his hand to keep a firm hold of the now feminine figure he held pressed tightly against him, one hand now on the back of its neck and pressing it tightly against his shoulder. The throne room faded way to he replaced by the vast world of the Fade and the guards became shades, watching with their barely-there eyes. The fine clothes Garrett wore changed back into his heavy Templar armor and within that second of transition he brought the blade he needed into his hand.

“Sebastian may have been a wild youth in his day but he’s been tempered over time,” the knight said to the demon he held, “You were simply a little too wanton.” The demon sighed as if this was a simple mistake and its life were not at risk. “Now tell me what keeps me here in the Fade. This is no normal dream. Something is holding me here that is unnatural.” It didn’t have to speak and he knew it but since he had the demon captive anyway, why not pose the question? He would kill it sooner or later.

“What makes you think I would explain anything to you, Templar? I am not under your control. I am not under anyone’s control here in my own dominion.”

This was true. “What do you have to lose by telling me? I have already seen through your schemes demon. You would betray nothing and no one to tell me what exactly it is that is keeping me asleep for the time being.” 

“Perhaps I would not have the mage with whom I’ve made my bargain executed by your ‘holy blades’. Maybe I would prefer to leave my gateway open for when I fulfill my contract and have gained my entry to your world.”

“So you would leave any mage in the vicinity when I wake be held responsible for the actions of the one? Do you truly believe the mages other than the one you’ve worked with are strong enough to resist your charms?” Perhaps it was less than wise to play into a demon’s ego but if it made the made the demon give him an answer what did it matter right now? The creature would not possess him. He was strong enough in mind and body to resist any attempts it made at possession. He was not an easily swayed mage or a rogue with questionable morality. 

The demon realized the truth of the matter it seemed and didn’t bother trying, at least at first. It smiled its oily smile and slid away from his grasp, watching him curiously, probably looking for another way to breach his defenses. It could look all it wanted. It would find no weakness it could exploit in him. He had mastered his own vices long ago specifically for this reason.

“You are being held by blood magic, Templar. The initial sleeping potion in the tea was just enough to make you sleep long enough to get you to the blood mage that would weave a spell to keep you asleep. You are mine to toy with as I wish. The more you resist the harder it will become. Why not make it easier for yourself? All you have to do is accept what I offer. Why wouldn’t you want to live a dream for the rest of your days, wrapped in his arms and ruling Starkhaven as you were meant to?”

Garrett all but laughed at it. So he was held but a blood mage? That explained why he couldn’t wake up but why would members of the Order be working with blood mages (as Ser Janus was the one who laced the tea presumably)? Were they thralls? Or had the mages somehow hidden their maleficar tendencies and convinced some of the more sympathetic members of the Order to help them against Meredith and whatever other agenda they might need someone like him for. He doubted Bethany would help. Her fiancé wasn’t friendly.

He’d find out after he awakened. He needed to wake up first and desire demons were well known for being some of the easiest to thwart. They were not tenacious like wrath or pride. They did not linger like hunger did. Only desire reflected the moods and wants of their prey to the point where they were a risk to themselves and other shades and demons in the area. It was perhaps their greatest weakness. How mages still fell prey to them Garrett didn’t understand how when all it took to manipulate these creatures was enough will.

But perhaps they were too distracted by the beauty of these creatures. He couldn’t blame them. If Circle mages were not permitted any kind of sexual let alone physical contact with object of their desires how could they hope to master it? It was unfair. He’d have to consider bring it up to the Knight Captain. Mage children born into the Circle were safer than mage children born outside the Circle weren’t they? If they were raised in the Circle, thus having ever known anything outside of it, they could not resent the ‘oppression’ of the Order and in raising the children themselves the Order could watch over the mages raising their own child, allowing safety for all involved. 

Such was a side matter, however. The demon watching him now seemed to be trying to shift its form to reflect his desires but what those desires were it couldn’t decipher. Good. If he could keep it confused the easier it would be to defeat when it came time to do so. “What is the name of the blood mage who holds me? Or the name she goes by?”  
“What makes you think the mage is a she?”

“Desire is a woman’s demon.” Male mages fell to desire demons but few worked with them into something like this. Men were often too proud to work with desire. “What is her name? I do not care about her compatriots so long as they too haven’t make contracts. Let the Wardens of the Circle deal with you and your kind. I just seek to be free.” 

At the prospect of freedom the demon seemed to perk up. Her tail fluttered, her breasts seemed to giggle and even her inhuman eyes flickered. Interesting. So she knew she was outmatched by him. He could take a little confidence in that. “You would not harm the others?” 

“Without proof, what charges could I bring against them?”

She considered Garrett’s words before she smirked, her arms folding under her tasseled breasts to press them up toward the knight’s attention. Too bad he was entirely uninterested. “The mortal’s name is Grace. Her beloved contacted me first. I taught him how to raise the dead but he was too weak to use them properly. He died at your sister’s hand. An apostate falling to an apostate? The irony itself was delicious.”

“So you helped her even then?”

“Grace did not have the strength to defeat the Templars escorting their little party on her own. I offered to help provided we work together to… shift the Circle should she be taken in the end.”

Hm. He’d have to consider notifying the Knight Captain about this. As vicious as the Knight Commander was at least the Knight Captain was a little more reasonable, despite the horrors he had supposedly seen. It was difficult to imagine that anyone had survived Uldred’s Uprising and the subsequent call for Annulment of the Ferelden Circle of Magi. Whether that call was answered he never learned the answer to. Only the knights within Kinloch Hold knew that answer now and given what few mages were left in the Circle, either answer was a plausible one.

“Can you lift the spell she put on me?”

“I might be persuaded to try…”

“How?”

The demon all but laughed. Garrett stayed where he was. He wanted to leave but no demon, no matter how powerful, could counter the dark power of evil magic. If he was held by blood magic then the demon had taught the woman how to do and thus only the spellcaster or someone who also used blood could lift it. Distantly he heard the sound of talking though what was being said he couldn’t tell. Well. That was interesting.

The demon spoke to him, trying to entice him but he didn’t say much in response. He was too focused on trying to recognize the voices, as muffled as they were. There was a woman’s voice, Grace’s he supposed, and a man’s voice. The man sounded familiar… Ser Thrask? Ser Thrask was involved in this? How? Why? He seemed like such a reasonable and devout knight. Why would he work with maleficarum? Surely he could tell that’s what they were, even if he didn’t witness their use of blood magic first hand.

The demon stopped talking. He listened more closely. There was battle now. The demon waited until he was seemed completely distracted before he attacked, but he hadn’t been as distracted as he seemed. It jumped at him and he turned just as it got close enough to catch it on his shield. In a female form it was so small and light he was easily able to throw it back hard. It cried out in frustration as he drew his sword and sighed in annoyance. “Come at me then, creature.”

It screamed as it charged at him again and without thinking he spun around to strike at the demon with his blade. The shades watched from where they stood without interfering directly in the fight. If he defeated the demon and seemingly remained unaffected they would not join in. If he seemed weak or faltered they would try to take him down. It wasn’t so different from the tactic mortals would use in a similar position. The demon slipped away from his blade at first but landed directly on his shield which he used to try and crush the demon into the blade. He startled awake before it made contact.

When Ser Garrett opened his eyes he was not in his office but laying in sand. It was hot and he smelled salt. The coast? What was he doing on the coast? Blood seemed to coil in the air too and it was only when he tried to move his head that he first noticed the beginnings of his headache. The light was suddenly too bright and his body ached all over. It could have been much worse and he was grateful that it wasn’t much that didn’t make him ache any less.

“Garrett? Are you alright?”

Hesitantly he got to his feet, chancing opening his eyes again to look around at the corpses gathered and the frightened young man holding his bleeding wrist. He must have released the hold the blood mage placed on him with his own blood magic. Poor child. To be pushed into such a thing because of someone else’s actions…

Before he could answer Bethany’s question the sound of several knights arriving, for their heavy armor was distinctive even in his distracted state, drew his attention instead. Knight Captain Cullen himself was there, along with several lower ranked knights and a man not dressed in the armor but carried himself in the same way as the older knights being swept away by their lyrium addictions. A former knight, one who did not relinquish his title willingly then. Garrett stood a little straighter and saluted his superior though he still felt shaky and weak.

The Captain asked what happened and despite being the victim, Garrett could not answer so he let Bethany speak. This blood magic pandemic was getting ridiculous outside the Circle. How did the Hunters miss this many maleficarum? Something needed to be done about them and quickly. This needed to be controlled.


	12. Safe in Loving Arms Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian checks on Garrett in the barracks, reminding him of why he does what he does. Then he has a conversation with Bethany in the Chantry, reminding her that he will protect the Grand Cleric... no matter the cost.

By the time Garrett returned to the barracks in the Gallows, he was beyond fuming. The blood mages, as most of the mages gathered had been, were mostly dead and of those that remained the boy, the one who used blood magic only to unweave the spell on him, was facing Meredith in a trial that would no doubt either end in his execution or Tranquility. The knights that had worked with the mages, regardless of their intent, had been executed and hung from the gates as a warning to any other knight who would dare consider defying Meredith’s orders.

Ser Thrask hadn’t been an especially close friend but he understood, unlike so many others, what it was like to watch over someone he cared about who was a mage. Bethany didn’t need his looking after now –that much was clear when she rescued him from that coastline- but he was her big brother still and until mother’s death had done all he could from his post as a Templar. After mother’s death they may have separated a little more than he would have liked but it seemed like it was inevitable. Magic, unsupervised and selfish, had killed their mother. 

Perhaps one day soon he would face the same fate as Ser Thrask, as almost any knight now within the Order who had mage relatives or friends outside the Circle. He hadn’t seen anything directly, of course not as such would harm the chances of the Order gaining new recruits to their cause, but some of the knights he served with in the Chantry even before this fiasco had disappeared though no one seemed to be in a panic about where they went. Now he knew and while the imagery got the point across, the disrespect of it sickened him. 

He all but threw his armor onto the rack, uncaring how it lay, and once he was down to his trousers and tunic he stormed out of his cell to the chapel, intending to pray away his anger. He was partially angry at himself for falling victim to the poisoned tea as he knew Ser Janus, who now hung beside Ser Thrask, had been acting unusual but he had not thought to be betrayed by his own knights in such a way. Why had they done it? Why had they turned their backs on the Maker to work with maleficarum?

Garrett couldn’t understand it but he prayed for an answer. Meredith’s methods were reaching dangerous levels of oppression but more and more mages were turning to blood magic in this city. The number of Tranquil in the courtyards had become staggering. There were almost more Tranquil than there were proper mages. No Circle should have their population so skewed. Even he knew that but there had to be a reason for it. If Grand Cleric Elthina knew why did she do nothing? There had to be a way to solve this conflict without having to resort to such barbaric means.

He stayed in the chapel for so long it wasn’t until one of the Sisters, weary and wanting to go back to her quarters tapped his shoulder and told him the time. He apologized to her and returned to his room tonight without dinner. He didn’t feel hungry. If anything he felt a little queasy still from the foul magic that had seemingly permeated him so thoroughly. He wondered if his dreams tonight would continue along the same path as the demon had tried to take him down earlier. It wasn’t so terrible a dream really. Better than the darkspawn.

Garrett had been surprised when he opened the door to his cell and found Sebastian standing there, dressed in the same armor as he always did but this time, for some reason, looking nervous. He even jumped a bit when the knight entered his room. “Brother Sebastian? What are you doing here?” He barely had time to close the door to his cell when he was all but thrown against it and pinned by cunning hands while his mouth was assaulted with frightened, desperate kisses. Ah. So that explained it. He didn’t try to fight the hands that held him.

His back started to ache from being pressed to the harsh wood of his cell door for so long and for once Garrett was glad that his roommate in his officer’s cell was not there. Where he was, Garrett wasn’t sure. His side looked like it had not been touched for days and, come to think of it, he had not seen his fellow lieutenant around lately. He would have ask about that when his beloved didn’t have his hands all over him, as if frantically checking for wounds that he would not find.

“I am alright, my love,” Garrett whispered quietly, willing himself to not react to the touch and only somewhat succeeding. He may have been a holy knight but he was just a man and Sebastian’s lips tracing his jaw and neck was a weakness even the strongest of men could not resist easily. “I was not hurt. I was simply trapped in a dream. I found and fought the demon before I was awakened though I was not able to defeat it in time.” Perhaps if he had had another hour or so the outcome may have been very different.

“I thought I had lost you,” Sebastian answered almost fiercely, his voice rough even as his hands slowed and came to rest on Garrett’s hips. The knight could feel the heat of those calloused fingers through the thin fabric of the tunic there. It was so very different from the warmth of the demon’s hands shifted to resemble Sebastian’s. “I thought those damned maleficarum had taken you from me.”

“I am here now, safe and whole. There is nothing to fear now.”

But all his words did not seem to assuage Sebastian’s fears so Garrett lifted his now free arms to wrap them around the man in his arms and hold him as close. He petted and gently tugged at auburn hair as he gently pressed Sebastian’s nose to the skin of his neck and let the feeling of his beloved’s warm breath wash over his skin. He hoped perhaps the scent of his skin and the sensation that was both soothing and unexpected would help. No dream would think to tug gently on someone’s hair and there was no such thing as a true sense of smell in the Fade. At least, none he remembered.

This action seemed to work better at least. They stood for maybe an hour more before Sebastian finally pulled away and Garrett was able to move away from the door and sit down on his bed. His feet and knees ached from his time spent in prayer earlier today and he could still feel that sickeningly coiling of evil magic as if it had left a slimy residue on his skin almost as foul as darkspawn blood. The Maker must have been watching over him during the war as it was by His will alone that he never contracted the Blight. 

He could hear the sound of Sebastian removing his armor and setting it on the other lieutenant’s armor rack. Normally Garrett might have protested but there was no evidence that the man would be returning tonight so it was safe for now. He rubbed at his aching limbs, hoping to relieve some tension and it worked somewhat by the time Sebastian had finished. The touch that had been so frantic before was much gentler now as it guided him from behind to lie down on the bed and Sebastian hovered over him as if to protect.

“Not that I don’t appreciate you coming by,” Garrett said, “but surely this is dangerous? With Meredith’s paranoia, the fact that I was so recently taken by blood mages, my sister being an apostate even if she is the Champion of Kirkwall… I can’t imagine it would be safe to be seen in my presence, let alone be known to share my bed even if it is to sleep.” Because Sebastian wasn’t a mage he didn’t think Meredith would pay too much attention but if she did he could be hung just like the other knights for corruption a priest.

Sebastian’s fingers played soothingly for his hair, twisting some of the curls around his fingers but the worried look in those –now humanly- blue eyes did not fade. “It is no more dangerous than your duties. You did, after all, risk your life when the Qunari unleashed their invasion onto the city. Today you could never have awoken or they could have bled you out to use your blood in their foul rituals.” 

“Such is what the Maker asks of me and such is how I will serve Him until such a time as I am released from this world.”

“That does not mean that I have to like it.”

True. Garrett sighed and wrapped an arm around Sebastian’s waist to hold him close, just enjoying the other’s warmth. The memories of that demon wearing Sebastian’s still flashed across his eyes for a moment, making him blink, but he was able to force away the thoughts they invoked in him again. He thought he hid it well but with the priest so close, clearly such was not the case. “What is it?”

“The dream I had while trapped under the blood mage’s spell. It’s not really important.”

“Isn’t it?”

“The demon was a desire demon. It showed me all I desired in an effort to try and enthrall me. I was not fooled, I confronted it and it was not pleased so we fought. If I had had more time I would have killed the creature but I woke up instead.”

“What did it show you?”

As a knight of the Order, Garrett could consider this an unusual form of confession. As a lover, this could be revealing a fantasy. As a friend, this could be a hope that should be dashed and never spoke of again. As a Brother in Faith (for all Templar knights were also trained as priests until their bodies were strong enough to endure the weight of the armor and all that meant), it would reveal a weakness that could have him cast out, labeled and corrupted and unfit for duty. He wondered which Sebastian would hear from him and which he wanted the man who meant more to him than anything else in this world to hear. 

He considered his words carefully before he spoke, watching Sebastian’s face. “It showed me a version of our future together. You had gone home, taken back Starkhaven and I was with you. We were older men. Our hair was tinged grey and we were joined in marriage.” Garrett laughed depreciatively. “The demon tried to seduce me with your face, my love, but was too wanton. You are too pure in spirit to do what that demon suggested so I threatened it with a blade. The dream fell away and we fought.” He didn’t mention that he had never considered such a dream possible, no matter how much he wanted it. Sebastian had his vows and he doubted anything would make his priest stray.

Sebastian’s worry shifted into an almost sad look. “That is what you desired for us? To grow old together in marriage in Starkhaven? What of the Order? What of your family?”

“Bethany can take care of herself. The Order in Kirkwall is corrupted and twisted from its purpose. Just as you would continue to serve the Maker as priest or prince, so would I serve as Andraste’s sword and shield in this world though perhaps less literally as your prince-consort than I do with the Order.” He’d still technically be a Guardian of the Faith though perhaps without the armor.

The man above him shifted so that he lay down next to him and although they were roughly the same height, Garrett felt good having his beloved curling himself to sleep on his shoulder. The knight’s arm shifted so that Sebastian used it to rest his head while strong hands gently toyed with the cloth of Sebastian’s tunic on his shoulder. The only other time he was so content with his lot in this life was when he was prayer. Perhaps it was selfish of him to want to be married to the priest when even this was peaceful.

Garrett must have fallen sleep at some point because the next he knew he awoke to his darkened room –the candles having snuffed out on their own much earlier- he awoke to the feeling of being held down and someone calling his name in his ear. It took him a moment to hear the accent and recognize it but what the nightmare was he couldn’t recall much of. There was blood and death, something laughing at him and he remembered utter despair filling his chest. What could it have been? The desire demon returned for to take its retribution for earlier?

Had he been anywhere else in Kirkwall, perhaps, his waking from a nightmare might have drawn attention from outside the room but nightmares were all too common in the Gallows and largely ignored by the knights. Especially recently with that thing, whatever it was, that poked and prodded their minds as if to seek out a weakness in this world that the dream world could not. He had tried to find its source before but the closer he got the sicker he felt as if something was trying to twist and poison his very blood. He let it be.

“Garrett?” Sebastian whispered, “Was the nightmare really that bad?”

“I fought in a war, remember? There will always be nightmares.” And with something that felt sickeningly like the Blight poking at his mind as if trying to infect him, such dreams were only amplified.

“I thought the Order trained many of its knights to be able to resist nightmares and the demons that haunt them.”

“They do, to an extent. Some Rites emphasize it more than others.” Ferelden’s Rite, who allowed many of their knights to choose the path of their service, especially emphasized such things in any who planned on going into missionary work like Garrett had done for Maker only knew the kinds of horrors the apostates of those not yet touched by the Chant of Light could conjure. Kirkwall was an enclosed city so he doubted the recruits were trained as such. It was why he was able, when trapped in the Fade, to see where the Fade could not perfectly reflect the real world even in the form the demon took from his memory. “But that does not make us immune to such a very human weakness.”

Without the light to see Sebastian’s face by it was hard to tell how he felt about the matter but the fact that when he relaxed back into his earlier position his arm was wrapped more tightly than usual around Garrett –though no so tight he couldn’t breathe- spoke of an attempt to comfort. It was a sensation he hadn’t known before he accepted his feelings, before he learned that in his own way Sebastian returned them. He might have known something like it when he was still a boy, wrapped in his mother’s arms, but that was long ago.

It was a while before he could calm his racing heart and go back to sleep even with the comfort of his beloved in his arms. The roosters the Order kept along with their hens that were cared for by the Tranquil and the recruits who had earned some kind of punishment originally would wake him when it was time if the sun didn’t. How exactly Sebastian was going to sneak out of the Templar’s barracks in the morning and somehow get to the Chantry before he did he wasn’t sure but his priest was a clever rogue. There was something.

Sometime later the sun did rise and the roosters’ calls to greet it did rouse him from his comfortable sleep. Sebastian was already gone, as he expected, but he did leave a note that Garrett wished he didn’t have to burn to keep their secret. The note said simply that he was sorry to had to have left so early but he wanted to be sure to escape the notice of the majority of the knights and Meredith for fear of what retribution she would bring down upon him should she notice him there, no matter what perfectly valid excuse he could give as both being Garrett’s friend and trusted priest.

The note also spoke of Sebstian needing to keep a watchful eye on Elthina on her way to the Chantry each morning too though he doubted the apostate Anders would dare threaten her without some kind of public display. _From what little I have gleaned in the way he speaks to your sister, he means for whatever he’s planning to be a grand declaration of war. He’s said something to her about a potion that could separate Justice from him and he needed her help gathering some rare ingredients. I do not trust it. How could someone like him have discovered such a potion, even from Tevinter, and not have found the ingredients himself? He means to make Bethany an accomplice in his plots I fear. It is as I warned her; he cares for nothing but his cause now, even her._ It ended with Sebastian’s usual declaration of love and wishes for a safe and joyous day before his flourishing signature, proof as much of anything that he was raised to be a prince or a high noble more than the way he carried himself and his diction.

He moved through his morning routine fairly quickly though he took his time in the chapel for his morning prayer. He had much to apologize to Andraste and the Maker for including his anger from earlier, and he had to thank them for the gift They had bestowed upon him in the form of Sebastian and his gentle, chaste love. He felt a sign of rightness about him as if They approved of his prayers. It was sign enough for him that They existed even if the feeling was one of his own making derived from his own subconscious need for approval.

Garrett’s trip to the Chantry was uneventful and he reached it with ten minutes to spare. He settled into his office again and was glad to see that it remained undisturbed from when last he saw it though the tea set was gone. There were more papers than when he left but that was to be expected. He was an officer. While his duties didn’t involve as much paperwork as he was sure a Warden of the Circle would have to deal with, it was a necessity every division of the Order had to deal with to keep the men supplied.

The papers didn’t take long, even with the knight lieutenant keeping an ear out for suspicious activity. He had been taken from this room before because he trusted one of his younger knights. He would not fall into the same trap again though he was also fairly certain Meredith had thoroughly purged the knights that had dared to defy her and her orders. It did not escape his notice that most of them were Wardens of the Circle. Something terrible had to be going on there for so many to question their Knight Commander and her more extreme methods.

He had just gotten down to the last letter in the pile, something about yet another noble’s request for a Templar escort at night for fear of blood mages (why they thought he would be the one to hand these requests to he wasn’t sure) when a knock on the door frame of his office drew his attention. Bethany was there, looking both sheepish and annoyed that she had to be there, dressed only in civilian clothes and with her staff left at home. Alright so she wasn’t here as Champion of Kirkwall. Whatever this was about was probably serious.

Garrett motioned her into the room and she did so, making sure to close the door behind her though she did not lock it. It was a heavy enough door that it would make a sound when it was opened and more than that Garrett would keep an eye on it while they spoke. She took the seat across from his desk without being told to –or asking- and leaned forward on her elbows as she thought of how to say whatever it was she was going to say. He let her think on her words. He was patient.

“I am sorry, Garrett,” she said after a while, “I had thought I was helping people. Saving those who were being unfairly treated by a tyrant. I never expected to have you drawn into this.”

She meant his kidnapping. “It is of no concern but thank you. There wasn’t much I could have done to help you or to stop it anyhow. My duties have very little to do with the Circle and the way the Knight Commander conducts it.” 

“Surely even you’ve noticed she’s gone mad then? Torturing the innocent? Wielding the brand crimes that do not warrant it?”

“As I said, I do not serve in the Circle, Bethany. I know as much about the circumstances in the Gallows as you do. Probably less now that so many of the knights have been purged who thought to rebel against her.” And his attention being focused on protecting the Grand Cleric. With the door to his office closed he hoped his knights would be on higher alert than usual. After all they were instructed to be so when Bethany walked into the Chantry, alone or accompanied now. “I cannot judge her actions as right or wrong without the truth.”

The sheepish air changed to one of anger. “What of the way the Hunters go through the streets? Executing anyone and everyone who might have remotely considered helping an escaped mage?”

“They go too far but again, there is nothing I can-”

“You can stand against her! Like Ser Thrask did!”

“Ser Thrask is dead, Bethany!” Garrett shouted as he stood abruptly, “That little stunt he did with Grace and the other maleficarum? Even if he had not kidnapped me to bring you to him, to try and envelop you into the fold of their schemes from what I understand, he would have eventually been discovered. Meredith had him and all the other knights who dared to stand with him executed and hung as an example. Meredith claims that as they had disgraced the Order with their actions, so too will they be disgraced after their death. She has forbidden them funeral rites, even after they are to be taken down.”

Bethany shrank back in her chair at his outburst, surprised perhaps that he was so vehement about it. He didn’t care if the other knights overheard. What few did not know of what happened to him yesterday would surely know by now. Gossip ran rampant amongst the lower ranks. He hadn’t meant to frighten her though, just remind her that he knew all too well the price of defiance when there was nothing to do but openly declare the woman insane.

“I will serve in my duties here, as a Guardian of the Faith. The Grand Cleric is the only voice of reason in this conflict and I will ensure she is protected, no matter the cost.” He looked his sister in her wide brown eyes. “Remember that, sister, as you continue to push for this rebellion of yours.”


	13. The Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrett receives an invitation to Chateau Haine and Sebastian convinces him to go. Uncomfortable as he is with social events of any kind he can't help but feel as if something is very wrong at this one... possibly because of the presence of an unexpected guest.

It had come as something of a surprise when he found a formal invitation on his desk, written in barely legible Common, inviting him to a hunting party of some Duke. According to the invitation, anyone who was worthy of anything was going to be there and Bethany had declined on the behalf of the Amell estate. It said something about still wanting to have a representative of the house present and thus he got in the invitation as the eldest of the noble line even if he didn’t hold the title. It was… an awkward invitation certainly.

He brought it to Sebastian to show him the writing and to see if he former prince knew the name. Garrett wasn’t going to participate in a petty hunt unless he was either ordered to do it for the betterment of relations with the noble class on behalf of the Order (which Meredith had yet to order of anyone that he knew of but he had known of a couple of knights in Ferelden that did) or this Duke was important enough to cause problems if neither he nor Bethany attended his little gathering in the middle of nowhere apparently.

“I know the name. He’s close with the Empress and this hunt I believe is his annual wyvern hunt.”

A wyvern hunt? “I thought the Nevarrans were the ones who hunted dragons.”

“A cousin to the dragon but not an actual dragon. They are still very dangerous creatures however. Their poison is lethal if some unfortunate comes into contact with it.”

Wonderful. Because if there was one thing Orlesian nobles needed to be doing it was hunting a dangerous animal that they clearly barely understood. Still if they wanted to narrow their own numbers out of sheer stupidity, he wasn’t going to stop them but that didn’t mean he had to participate either. 

“Then Bethany was wise to refuse the man’s invitation.”

“It also means that you cannot.”

Wait… what?! “I have my duties here. The Grand Cleric needs protection and this little hunt of the Duke’s will take weeks! Surely you haven’t forgotten the threat upon her? The Divine’s potential Exalted March? My men can stand in a direct battle but too few of them are shrewd enough to defend someone like Elthina against an enthralled assassin or a mage’s trap.” Not all magical trap sigils glowed with power.

“Then I will stay and watch over her, Garrett. I am technically not a noble yet. I am simply a Brother of the Faith. I can see traps more easily than you can and with these adventures I’ve been a part of with your sister I can see every kind of trap before I even get near enough to activate it. She will be safe with me while you go to fulfill your duties as an Amell.”

“But I am not an Amell. I am a Hawke.”

“To Duke de Montfort, you are. You need the break from work anyway.”

Being a Templar wasn’t a job just like being a priest wasn’t a job. It was a holy calling to serve the Maker with the gifts He had bestowed upon one by the way of skill and strength. But more often than he had ever felt in Ferelden his duty here in Kirkwall was less about serving the Maker than acting as a servant of the Knight Commander and her whims. In a city like Kirkwall, was there truly a need for so large a Rite? He had just over a dozen Guardians of the Faith serving directly under him.

The only explanation he had was that there was a Grand Cleric serving in this particular Chantry, guarding whichever relics were kept here though he hadn’t bothered to find out what they were. His duty was to protect the clerics and the Chantry itself. That knowledge wasn’t necessary to know. Even then the sheer number of Hunters that flooded the city streets, some of them barely out of training, and Wardens of the Circle was staggering. Even the Chantry in Denerim had fewer knights stationed there and Denerim was about the size of Kirkwall before the Blight swept through it.

Maybe Garrett did need to get away from the headache that was serving in Kirkwall for a while, get a decent night’s sleep without that damn humming and throbbing headache that seemed to radiate through the barracks at night. He had managed to get some kind of rest by sleeping with Sebastian in the cloister when it became too much but he always left just as exhausted as when he went to sleep the night before. He thought it was stress or bad dreams that kept him from sleeping properly. He couldn’t pinpoint the mysterious source of the unease anymore.

“Maybe you’re right, Sebastian,” Garrett said quietly, leaning against the wall as he watched for signs of people nearby almost absently, “I do need some time away, if Knight Captain Cullen is willing to grant it.” He had a competent enough second in command he knew the actual Guardians would maintain his orders while he was away if perhaps with a little less enthusiasm. But he knew with Sebastian here in the Chantry by Elthina’s side he needn’t worry about it. He may be a priest now but his skills as a rogue had been honed to a fine point.

So Garrett retreated to his desk to write up two letters. The first was a request to Knight Captain Cullen, requesting leave for the party in question and citing the need to be away to calm his soul and represent the Order and his family to Orlesian nobility. He included the original invitation with that letter and sent it by messenger as soon as the ink dried. The next letter he wrote to the Duke, thanking him for the generous offer and replying that he would be all too glad to attend the event as both an Amell and Templar.

In the days coming up to when he needed to leave for the event, Garrett packed a bag of provisions and things accordingly. Knight Captain Cullen had called him to his office to explain the letter and something about what he said, about needing to cleanse his soul from the filth of blood mage and the twisted words of the desire demon, seemed to touch something within the man thus he allowed it. The bag ended up being fairly heavy but not nearly as heavy as his equipment. It was an easy weight to carry on top of everything else.

He spent most of the evening after his duties the night before with Sebastian out in the city of Kirkwall, both of them dressed as commoners in Lowtown where neither would easily be recognized out of uniform. Not that Garrett went completely unarmed and without symbol of his authority… his medallion was more than ample enough sign of his status if one cared to look closely enough. Sebastian’s bow and quiver were a little more obvious (as no one else in this Marcher city carried quite so fine a bow) but his medallion remained tucked out of sight for now.

They drank poor quality ale and chatted as friends, held hands as if they were courting and kissed as lovers more than once when the lighting was right and the ale did its job and emboldened them both. Here they were not Knight Lieutenant Hawke and Brother Sebastian Vael. Here they were simply Garrett and Sebastian and they would enjoy their time as such before they were parted again. Garrett needed to rise fairly early to go through his morning routine and catch the convoy out of the city but at the moment he didn’t care. He was actually happy.

“You know,” he said after Sebastian finished laughing at some story Garrett told about the antics in the barracks of the monastery where he was trained, “We should do this more often. Just spend time together as Garrett and Sebastian. It’s good to hear you laugh without holding back.” It warmed his heart like the ale couldn’t and chased away some of the weight on his shoulders. 

The mood became more somber at his words. “You know why we can’t Garrett,” Sebastian answered quietly, as if anyone in the Hanged Man was paying any sort of attention to them rather than the woman who Garrett could have sworn was one of Bethany’s friends playfully dueling a less than sober man for the right to take her to bed, “What could happen to you if someone were to recognize you and report you. I would only be excommunicated. You… You could face death for your crime.”

“Why? You have not broken your vows. We are simply companions who love each other with as much devotion as our faith allows us.”

“Yes but do you think they will believe that? The knights who would come for you? The Commander in her paranoia?”

Garrett leaned into his lover, resting his head on the strong shoulder of his archer as he watched the spectacle and sighed. “The Maker would surely not have me put to death for simply loving you, Sebastian. Our love is pure. It goes beyond the physical just as He once loved Andraste before She came to His side in the heavens.”

“But the purity of their love inspired fierce jealousy from those who misunderstood it. It led to betrayal and eventually her death.”

Sword calloused hands laced his thick, ugly fingers with Sebastian’s slimmer, finer ones. Perhaps Sebastian was right. Still, Garrett wished he didn’t have to be. Pure love should never be punished in such a way. He wondered how Andraste’s husband felt as he watched his beloved wife burn at the stake, a warning to anyone else who would dare to defy the Imperium, or even if he was left alive long enough to witness the suffering he had caused her. He would sooner fall on his on blade then hurt Sebastian in such a way… unless it was the only way to keep him safe. 

But such dark thoughts had no place here in the last moments he would be spending with his beloved for any prolonged period of time. He forcibly changed the direction of them to something less dark, anything more cheerful than death and betrayal. “Tell me of Orlesian etiquette. I can’t say I’ve had any formal training amongst high nobility. Lothering was such a small village and the Chasin’d were barely considered people even by the missionaries I escorted into the Wilds.”

Sebastian started talking then about what he knew, what he had been raised to know under the expectation that he would eventually need to marry and maintain political contacts on the behalf of his family. Or rather he probably would have had he not been such a wild youth. The sound of his brogue was as soothing as the fingers running through his hair, toying with the curls that gently pulled out of the pomade he used to keep them slicked back and away from his face when in the full armor. He may have closed his eyes at some point but if he did it was try and keep focused on the words Sebastian was saying to him. It was important information if he was going to avoid making a fool of himself. 

But the ale made him feel a little too warm and comforting touch of fingers in his hair and holding his other hand so lovingly was just a little too soothing. He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew he was being gently shaken awake and the earlier cacophony of sound had faded to some quiet murmuring. Sebastian looked tired even with the soft smile on his face. “We need to get you to a bed of some kind. I’ve rented one for us here for the night. You need some proper rest.” 

It didn’t take long for the pair of them to get upstairs to the rented room though it was a poorer quality room than both of them were used to. The furniture was half rotten, the bed looked like it was little better than thin pile of used hay with a fitted sheet over it and the pillows were flat. But here they could lay down together in each other’s arms and sleep without fear of discovery. Here they could simply be together for a little while and it was more than they had anywhere else in this city really.

When Garrett awoke the next morning, he found Sebastian prodding him awake and letting him know he had to hurry back to the barracks to gather his things and dress properly in his armor if he wanted to catch that convoy that would be leaving soon. They kissed sweetly just before they left the room and it took everything Garrett had to lock away his feelings again. He would be away for a few weeks but he was certain it would feel much longer than that. He hadn’t had such a compelling reason to stay at his home posting before now.

The ferryman didn’t ask why he was headed to the Gallows so early in civilian clothing, for which he was grateful, nor did he ask when an hour later, Garrett was washed, dressed and ready to cross again to meet with the convoy to head to the mountains. For just a second, the knight lieutenant wondered if the man could even speak. He never said anything to anyone he took across the harbor to the mainland as far as Garrett could remember but he did wear a wedding ring. Maybe he did speak but not to any mage or Templar.

The convoy thankfully was not hard to find and were grateful for Garrett’s presence in full armor. Apparently the route to the chateau was dangerous and a skilled warrior such as himself to help guard it in exchange for passage was reason enough for bringing him along… on top of being paid for the extra food needed to feed him while they made their voyage. The group was a set of Orlesian merchants, bringing supplies to the Duke’s party that he had ordered some time ago. Garrett had tried to listen in to their gossip but his Orlesian was atrocious.

While the trip itself could not be said to be uneventful –as there were plenty of bandits, wild animals and even the occasional Tal-Vashoth closer to Kirkwall trying to rob them- 

Garrett had been grateful when they finally reached the blasted chateau on the edge of the Nevarran border that screamed of its current occupants with the Lion of Orlais displayed in the various banners as well as what was probably the Duke’s familial crest on those that few opposite the original ones. The merchants chatted amicably with the guards while Garrett admired the beautiful country side that surrounded them.

Or rather he did until a guard addressed him in Common. “What is your name? Why are you here?”

“I am Knight Lieutenant Garrett Hawke of the Order of Kirkwall,” he produced the invitation that Knight Captain Cullen had given back to him when he explained himself, “I was invited by the Duke to represent the Amell Estate out of Kirkwall as my sister, the Champion of Kirkwall, was unable to attend the Duke’s event.” Perhaps he was a little blunt but he was tired and really hated dealing in politics. Surely the guards at least could understand his frustration.

The guard read over the invitation before he motioned a servant over who offered their hands for his bags. He carried most of his heavy equipment but the servant didn’t look like he would be strong enough to carry the bag itself with any ease. “It’s heavy,” he warned, “I’d rather carry it myself.” Better than to risk injuring the poor elf who looked miserable just being there. The guard shrugged but the servant followed them anyway as the guard lead him into the chateau through a side entrance towards the guests’ quarters. The rooms were as decadent as he expected.

“The duke would like to greet you personally when you are done refreshing yourself in the courtyard along with the other guests that have been arriving throughout the day. The Hunt does not begin until tomorrow so there is no need for full armor if you do not wish to wear it. Your armor rack is in the corner there and if you have need of a servant or two, feel free to pull this chord here.” It was a long rope with a heavy tassel on it, made to look part of the decoration scheme of the room.

“Thank you, Serah,” Garrett said politely as he set his bag down carefully, “I will be down within the hour.” He had to put his things away, lock away his lyrium, bathe, shave and change into something presentable to Orlesian nobility. He was glad he thought to bring his formal Templar’s robes though he doubted they would look like anything more than simple priest’s garb to most of the nobles gathered. He waited until the guard left before he started unpacking and putting his things away in secure locations. The clothes and gold were replaceable. The lyrium, however, was not.

The water of the bath he was given was cold but he didn’t mind it. It got the job done as he scrubbed the week’s worth of dirt and filth from his hair and skin and when he used his clean, sharp razor got the scruff (nearly a full beard) clear from his cheeks, jaw and neck with not even a nick. The formal robes took a bit longer to dress in but such was the nature and he had calculated in the time for it even as he strapped a dagger to the interior of his high riding boots.

The gathering itself, while it had a lot of people there, was relatively tame by Orlesian standards as he understood it. It was simply a means for the Duke and his family to greet their guests and for those gathered to socialized and get acquainted with new figures in the scene of influence and politics while networking. At least he recognized some of the faces gathered if not well. The DeLauncets known well in Kirkwall for their need to complain if nothing else. Seneschal Bran was here too and he almost recognized one of the faces gathered as a Ferelden lord.

When the Duke himself stood on his little platform above his guests –the symbolism of it didn’t escape Garrett- and made his formal greeting the knight had to admit the man had a way with flowery language. In a way it made him miss the way Sebastian spoke to him though whether the way he spoke derived more from being raised as a noble of Starkhaven or from years spent in the Chantry, Garrett couldn’t tell. The fewer words one used the more honest the responses he found and honesty was rarely a strong suit amongst nobles of any nation.

The speech went on for a solid five minutes and when it was over the servants seemed to spill out from everywhere with food for the gathered to pick at if they wanted. Garrett did not partake in any of the alcohol gathered, which seemed to confuse some servants whom he asked for a simple glass of water, but he did choose a few finger foods to munch on while he waited for the others to take what they wanted for their first rounds from the buffet tables. He doubted the tables would be empty when it was his turn.

He had finally gotten his glass of water when an unexpected voice near his elbow almost made him jump. “You know, I didn’t expect to see you here of all people.”

He turned at the voice and was surprised to see a red haired woman he didn’t recognize. Her accent was Orlesian but there was more than a hint in Ferelden in the way she spoke. She seemed familiar though, as if he had seen her before. “I make it a habit to avoid such politics, mi’lady,” he said by way of response and bowed slightly, “though it is a pleasure to see you again.”

She laughed though it had a sharper edge than what he was used to hearing on most women. He straightened and watched her warily and she seemed to be amused by his change in demeanor. “We haven’t formally met but it is difficult to forget the Templar who returned triumphantly from the Wilds with more missionaries alive than any other in our little cloister in Lothering.” 

One of the Sisters? No. Not in that kind of outfit. A lay sister then? There hadn’t been many of them, even fewer with thick Orlesian accents like hers.

“Sister Leliana?” He guessed. The name sounded right. If the tales of the Battle of Denerim were to be believed she was one of the companions to the one would become the Hero of Ferelden. She was supposedly a bard of frightening skill and rumor had it that she was a close friend of Divine Justinia V… a friend with no little authority to such a powerful and holy figure. “It has been a long time. My memory isn’t as good as it used to be.”

“It is alright, Ser Garrett,” she said with a smile, “War will do that.”

He had only been in one war but Kirkwall had kept his blade sharp, his skills sharper and his shield arm stronger. It was disheartening. Perhaps that was why he had conjured the dream of living by Sebastian’s side as his prince-consort rather than remain in the Order. Death, no matter who the enemy was, tended to weigh heavily on a man’s soul. She knew that weight better than most it would seem. “You are here on behalf of a Grand Cleric, Sister? I would not have thought the Duke would invite so dignified a lady to something so violent.”

“I am actually here on another matter, Ser Garrett, much like you are not actually here to present the Order of Kirkwall.”

“I was told I didn’t have much choice in the matter as the Champion of Kirkwall had so graciously declined the invitation when it was presented.”

“Ah, then Brother Sebastian advised you wisely. It is good to maintain the old connections, even if they do not benefit you personally. You never know when you or your descendants might have need of these old ties.”

Garrett snorted softly. “I doubt the Amell line will continue after my sister and I. I have no claim to the noble line and my sister… well. She walks a dangerous path.” If Leliana knew anything about Bethany beyond her reputation she would know what Garrett was talking about. If not then he was vague enough to not give anything away to outsiders who should not know such things. 

“I spoke to Bethany once recently. She’s changed quite a bit since Lothering.”

“Living as she does in Kirkwall will do that to a person.” So will the bloodshed, poverty and living in constant fear but these were matters not exclusive to her in that city. 

“I’d keep an eye on her lover, Anders, were I you, Ser Garrett. She is at least sincere in her wish to maintain the precarious balance of that city but he is not nearly so intent.” 

“I am aware. I have someone watching over them on my behalf in Kirkwall.”

“Good.”

Her words were suspicious. How did she know so much about the matter? Were the rumors about her true? Could she hold the dark office of the Left Hand? He couldn’t think of a way to respond before she excused herself and went to mingle. Something was wrong.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bethany arrives at the Hunt and Garrett finds himself pulled further into the party than he intended.

The next day, perhaps around noon, Garrett was awake with the rest of the guests, dressed in his full Templar regalia as it would be stupid to hunt a creature in less than full armor even if he did purposely leave the helmet behind. He got a few surprised stares from some of the Orlesian men though why he had no idea. A priest would not have dressed as he did yesterday. Perhaps they were too into their cups last night to remember him. He did just speak with Sister Leliana for the evening while the others left him alone.

The Hunt had just gotten started when there was something like a trumpet sounding to announce more guests to this stupid gathering. Garrett wouldn’t have paid it any heed had he not sensed a familiar presence amongst them and waited. Sure enough Bethany came, with her beloved in tow, an elf he had never seen before at her side. The duke greeted them happily and Garrett held onto his patience as long as he could before his anger swept it aside and he confronted the mage directly. “I thought the point of my coming here was that you refused, sister.”

“And I changed my mind. Women are prone to doing so, brother.”

He scoffed at the very notion. The Bethany he had known in Lothering would never have considered hunting an innocent creature for sport, no matter how “dangerous” the creature was supposed to be. Garrett had no intention of winning their little hunt but he had been determined to make an appearance as such and let the Orlesian nobility play their Game as they were wont to do without getting involved. “I doubt that is the case but you’re here now so the Maker has given you a reason.”

“That’s very kind of you to say, Ser, but I am not the Maker.”

He glanced at the lady elf that dare to interrupt their private conversation. Her vibrant red hair was not so unusual but the large grey eyes that seemed to consume her face did. Her smirk was one born of confidence that no city elf carried but she did not wear the vallaslin of one of the Dalish. There was no aura of magic around her either so she couldn’t come from a Circle nor could she be an apostate used to getting her way with humans.

“The Maker works in mysterious ways, Miss,” he replied, already disliking her for the comparison, “and if you are the one that convinced Bethany to come then He worked through you to do so, or so I believe. You, however, are free to believe what you wish.” And he was getting the sinking impression that what she believed had nothing to do with the Maker and His Bride. She was no slave or former slave of Tevinter and he had yet to meet a freedman elf from that far off nation. The mystery of her origins would continue bothered him.

“Speaking of belief, Garrett, I do believe I am going to need your help for the actual reason I am here. The Hunt the Duke has gathered us for is not an easy one and I could use your blade and shield to take down such a creature.” She spoke in such a calculating matter. No wonder even Sister Leliana noticed the difference though now he wasn’t so sure when the Sister met with Bethany in Kirkwall. He would have noticed a familiar face in the Chantry with him and his men being on such high alert for anything suspicious.

But with both Bethany and Anders here, perhaps the chance of an attack in Kirkwall was significantly reduced. The apostates that were still free had scattered, no longer forming an organized group after the Knight Commander and no less than a full company of Hunters found their base and exterminated each and every one of them, regardless of their use of blood magic or even their status as either mage or mundane. There were likely a few Templars now that still watched that particular underground passage for any that would return after their original raid to try and resurrect it.

But here, if he went with them, he could keep an eye on them while they wandered through the mundane Orlesian nobles, including the slippery little elf who thought herself clever. “Fine,” he told her after a few moments of consideration, “I’ll help you. It isn’t as if I had a much better plan on how exactly to go about this Hunt by myself.” His talents were for picking out mages in a crowd and neutralizing threats, not chasing after creatures like this dragon’s cousin. He offered Bethany his hand to shake as if to seal the simple deal formally.

She shook his hand and accepted his help but when Garrett looked to the other two he was both surprised and disheartened to see that the elf was pleased yet Anders remained distracted as if he was listening to something only he could hear. He didn’t look sick with the Corruption. There was no sign of the black blood of the Blight and his eyes looked clear though unfocused. Yet he seemed to radiate power, something that seemed twisted like the Blight but not quite nor was it the slimy slickness that flowed with blood magic. He knew that intimately.

He stared for a moment longer before he drew his gaze away and turned back to the matter at hand. He had already procured what he needed from the merchant set up to provision those gathered to hunt and Bethany went to the man to sell a few needless things she picked up though she held onto their staves and potions closely. They spoke to a professional hunter for advice before they were off onto the hunting grounds just before the castle, Garrett allowing his sister to lead the way of only because she was here for an important reason.

The elf provided insight for what they were hunting and while Anders spoke to her sparingly Garrett kept his mouth shut, watching the Orlesians and their surroundings more carefully. They found a group of small dragons that called them into action but the dragons were quickly disposed of and their little party remained, for the most part at least, uninjured. The lady elf stashed her daggers while Bethany gathered her things. Hm. A rogue then. One that moved quickly in the shadows and likely a heretic? Then she was an assassin though for whom he couldn’t begin to guess at.

They gathered some dragon’s blood to lure out the wyvern, found an old altar though he warned them of some ancient magic that still lingered and they left it be. A hunter asked them to find his missing hounds and as they continued on they found ingredients for a cure to the wyvern’s poison should any of them become ill with it. The elf, Tallis she ended up introducing herself as, talked of drinking a diluted form of the poison as a type of alcohol that would make on start to hallucinate. The things bored nobles ‘discovered’ while drinking copiously.

Perhaps what was most surprising was when their little group stumbled upon a group of small creatures that lived in holes in the ground. Some Orlesians poked at them first, provoking them, and then he had the mages had to deal with the resulting roused creatures. It was tricky fighting them what with them being so small. He had to bend pretty far to hit them with his blade or shield and their spears did nick his armor but didn’t pierce it. The creature’s equivalent of a mage hopped around and Garrett found it easier to take that creature down.

When they were all dead, Tallis explained what they were. Ghasts. Creatures that lived in colonies underground that only came to the surface when their holes were poked or stepped in. Provided Bethany didn’t poke at any more of their holes there wouldn’t be a problem but it was getting increasingly difficult to tell what his sister would or would not do in order to fulfill her goals anymore. Her magic had grown more powerful but there was nothing unusual about it in so far as he could tell and she maintained even now to avoid the temptation of demons.

Their little group moved on into a hunting ground further away from the Orlesians and they found the last piece to their antidote which Anders dutifully prepared in case they should need it. The ingredients gathered didn’t create much of the potion but hopefully it would be enough if one of them was overcome. He really didn’t relish the idea of any of them dying in such a way, even if he had yet to figure out the motivation of the foreign elf. The more she spoke, the more of an accent there was on her speaking patterns but from where?

The found the hunter’s hounds and gave the cure to one of the sick dogs who eager led them back to the hunter who gifted them with a finely made short bow. He considered asking Bethany if he could have it to give to Sebastian but that was something that could wait for now. There were more important things to worry about, such as actually finding the creature in question. They found a few more pieces of bait for the creature before they made their way around massive piles of the animal’s dung to a too quiet part of woodlands.

Garrett donned his shield and unsheathed his sword at the first cleaned set of human looking bones he saw, already wary, but no one else seemed to react to it. Tallis mentioned something about it being too quiet for comfort and he might have agreed if the quiet didn’t make it easier to listen for the creature they were deliberately going to provoke into a fight. Well if nothing else he could test his prowess as if he were nothing more than a simple soldier. It might be different fighting something without using the lyrium that hummed in his blood.

Tallis laid down the bait and waited, watching the trees like she was eager to fight this creature. Garrett thought she was a lunatic. If it was of the dragon family then it was surely at least ten times her size in stature much less weight. She may be a fast assassin but her little daggers wouldn’t do her any good if the blade wasn’t sharp enough nor had the strength to pierce its hide. But he stood ready regardless, listening closely for the tell-tale rustling in the brush. They didn’t have to wait long for the creature to appear.

The wyvern itself was both exactly what he expected and nothing like it. It resembled more of an overly large lizard than a true dragon. There were no wings and it ran on its four massive clawed legs. It hissed at them, flailed parts of its face as if in warning then charged at them. The others dodged out of the way but Garrett braced himself behind his shield. If he could keep the creature’s attention on him it would work out better in the long run. The mages could likely hurt it more than his blade could damage it.

He grunted with the effort of holding firm as the creature made impact, one of its massive clawed hands trying to knock him from the side to knock him down. It was tricky to maneuver away from the claws and still hold firm but he managed with only a fair nick of his chainmail. The creature growled in frustration and he swiped at it to try to get it to back down. He must have caught something because he felt overly hot blood spill over his hand and the beast’s scream nearly deafened him completely from so close a range.

As it was his ears rang painfully but he kept his focus on the creature as swiped at him again and again, snapping at him with its massive jaw and prepared to spit its no doubt acidic venom. Garrett knew he couldn’t move quickly enough to dodge it but he could angle his shield to prevent the worst of it from hitting his face. He had no wounds to worry about just yet. He had learned something about avoiding poison during the Blight. Too many others had not been so lucky to learn that lesson until it was too late. 

The heat of the flames being cast at it would have kept him warm had it been a cold a day and the flash of lightning that lashed at it burned bright even from where he sat behind his shield. The spit did burn lightly from where it splattered on his boots and no doubt the flaming sword crest on his shield was ruined but it was better than getting that poison on his skin where the consequences would be that much more severe. He charged when it changed its focus to one of the mages and knocked into one of its powerful legs hard enough to make it stumble before he drove his blade into the wyverns soft flank that had been revealed when it jumped away from the pain of his blow.

More hot dragon’s blood splattered everywhere. Another deafening cry and the creatures’ angry hiss but this time, before it could attack him again, Bethany cast a powerful fireball that finally took its toll and the wyvern fell, if not dead then dying. Garrett would have wanted to decapitate it to be sure but such a thing was much too violent with two women present, even if they were fighters who had seen far worse. 

He took a moment to recapture his breath, glad he actually had the chance, though now in the silence of the forest the ringing in his ears grew worse. He sheathed his sword and set his shield down so he could hold his head in an effort to stop it. Garrett couldn’t even hear the voices around him very well. It sounded like they were being muffled by something. Damn it, if this stupid trip rendered him deaf he was going to have words with Bethany… probably on paper rather than spoken.

His eye caught movement in the forest and a small troop of Orlesians (for no one else on this Hunt would dress or stand so ridiculously) emerged, the leader of which being a noble who was getting all huffy about something. The ringing in Garrett’s head was finally starting to fade –thank the Maker- and he picked up his shield even if he couldn’t make out the words that were being exchanged. He could decipher that the man was being petulant though. Maybe he thought he was going to win this contest? Somehow rigged it to be the winner today?

The Orlesian ordered his men to attack them and Garrett again donned his shield though when he drew his sword he told himself he would wound, not kill the men attacking. They were soldiers to a selfish lord of some kind and didn’t deserve to die simply for following his orders. Most of the Orlesians were easy enough to knock back with his shield and a slash to the stomach, nicking at their mostly decorative armor, was enough to drive them away or convince them to step back. They were a squeamish bunch these guardsmen, too easily frightened and deterred. 

But their little fight was interrupted before it could get too far by the host of the event, the Duke de Montfort, and Garrett had to admit that without the clang of the metal and steel meeting each other he was starting to feel a little better and could actually hear the tone of the Duke’s words even if the individual words were still muffled. He could decipher insults being thrown about and then Bethany was left with a choice of some kind… that allowed the other noble to leave with what men had been wounded and not outright killed. 

While it was a good thing that Bethany had left the men alive it was perhaps something of a mystery as to why. She had become quite cold hearted in the time that he had spoken to her in Kirkwall. The way she spoke to him in his office in the Chantry was proof of that. Like her beloved she was intent on achieving a specific goal and didn’t seem to care what sort of collateral damage she left in her wake. The ends were starting to justify the means. Unless she thought she could gain favor with this noble?

It was a moot point now. The Hunt was done. The Duke de Montfort had recognized their victory and as such had returned to the Chateau to prepare for the celebration. With his hearing slowly returning, Garrett could decipher the elf that accompanied them suggesting they go return to the Chateau to prepare for the little get together. Bethany agreed though she seemed to do so reluctantly, or so he thought. His sword went back in its sheath, his shield found its place at his back, and they began their trip back to the Chateau to refresh themselves.

The robes he wore for today’s event were the same formal robes he wore for the soiree the night before and he doubted anyone at this party would remember or care about that. They knew full well that he was no noble. He was just a Templar, one who was born into a high noble family originally but now just a Templar and thus had very limited resources at his disposal as all he had was to be devoted the Maker much like the person and things of a priest. At least his formal robes were at least somewhat comfortable.

Bethany’s outfit on the other hand looked ridiculous on her. She was a lady, a mage at that. Why hadn’t she chosen a formal set of robes or even a lovely noble’s gown to this thing? Why did it have to be such an ugly blouse with a laced up vest, pants and boots? She looked like she didn’t belong in such an affair and it was something he was sure the other nobles would pick up too. What annoyed Garrett all the more was that her beloved remained dressed as he was and it was only the elf, dressed in something even more foreign than Bethany’s outfit who would stay by her side. 

The elf said something about trying to pick locks and failing to do so. Ah. So that explained why Bethany was here. She was convinced to do something to help this elf and her cause… whatever that cause was. It was important enough to get both the leaders of the rebel mages (for there was no doubt in his mind that was whom they were known as in the city) out of Kirkwall. Did it have something to do with mages or the politics in Kirkwall?

He never really found out because Anders suggested they split up because as a group they were too conspicuous. Bethany said she would mingle with Tallis and try to find the key but that the other two, meaning he and Anders, were supposed to look for another way into the Chateau. Garrett had no intention of doing so but he wasn’t about to say that so he said nothing, let them make their own assumptions, and let Bethany make her way to the Duke’s side to be announced the winner and get her hard won prize before the party began.

Garrett for the most part stuck to himself, drinking water and munching on the odd treat the elven servants brought by when they passed by him, knowing that in a few hours the proper feast would be set out. He watched as Bethany spoke to a guest or two then a guard, feigning something of an emergency and the elf went with him behind the doorway to no doubt get the key she was looking for… in vain it seemed. Well. Perhaps this would be assassin wasn’t as clever as she thought she was, no matter her skills with blades.

He was greeted by someone, Garrett wouldn’t remember who later, by the time Bethany spoke to a few more people and had just finished his conversation with that guest when Bethany grabbed his arm and pulled him aside. “I need your help,” she said in a hushed tone.

“Why are we whispering?”

“Because I need you to seduce Lord Cyril to get the key he carries to the Chateau.”

Garrett almost choked on the water he had been sipping. “You want me to what?” he hissed, “No! Maker, no! You have lost your mind, Bethany, if you think I would-”

“It’s important Garrett! I need that key to get into the Chateau without any of the guards noticing.”

“Or you could return to the guest wing, claiming fatigue, and sneak around from there to do whatever it is you are here to do.”

“This is faster and much easier.”

“For you maybe.”

“Just do it!”

Garrett sighed and considered his options. He wanted nothing to do with this plot, whatever it was, but it was clear she whatever she was here for was important to her in some way. 

What kind of big brother would he be if he didn’t help her in this? But he was not a flirt by nature. His own love with Sebastian was not one fraught with frilly words and delicate conversations. He’d have to think hard on his words if he hoped to succeed in some way. “Fine. This once I will help you Bethany. But Maker as my witness I will never do this kind of thing again. It is dishonest and an offense to both the other man in question and the Maker.” He’d have to pray for penance about it later, perhaps from the Maker and from Sebastian upon his return.

Adjusting the way his robes lay about on his shoulders and across his chest, Ser Garrett crossed the courtyard to where Lord Cyril was talking to a group of his friends about something. When he got close enough they drew their attention to him and he was surprised to be all but welcomed to their little conversation. “Ser Garrett Hawke! It is an honor that you could attend this little gathering of ours. I have so wanted to meet you,” Lord Cyril said with flourish and let his eyes roam over the knight without a hint of shame or awkwardness.

“It was an honor to be invited by your father to such a lavish occasion, your Grace.” Well, technically that was the Duke’s title but he doubted the son would complain overly much about the misuse of it and he did not. Neither did the others that were gathered though they did blink in surprise. 

“I was wondering if perhaps you could tell us of what the battle was like? We have heard much talk about the Champion but so little about what the rest of Kirkwall became during the battle.”

He wished he could just talk about that. He really did. War stories he could handle and handle well but Bethany needed him to seduce this man. At least it was clear Lord Cyril would be receptive. “Actually I was hoping I could speak to you about something, your Grace, in private before we got into such gory and violent tales.” 

The Duke smiled a slippery little smile while one of his friends protested. “Of course. Come with me, Ser Garrett.”

Never in his lifetime had Garrett been so nervous about being alone with someone in an enclosed room and that included Sebastian before they decided to be together.


	15. A Rescue of Sorts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Bethany doesn't return to the party, Garrett preps for a rescue mission... one that proves his earlier feeling that there was something very wrong with this little party to begin with.

He got the key from the son of the Duke and after handing it off to Bethany ended up having to stay by Lord Cyril and be gently touched and groped all evening while he recounted war stories for the entertainment of him and his friends. It was difficult to keep up the pretense of still being interested in the lord when he already had someone waiting for him at home but he managed. Garrett simply considered this a test of loyalty to Bethany and Sebastian as he endured it until the little evening was done and people began to retire to their rooms for the night.

It took more effort to leave to return to his rooms alone than he would want to admit. Not that he was actually interested in the young man but he had to still maintain the pretense while leaving him and the lord tried to insist upon their coupling tonight. Not that Garrett had never known physical pleasure with another man, he hadn’t made those kinds of vows when he was sworn into service, but it had been before the Blight and that was nearly eight years ago now. He knew exactly what he was turning down.

He ended up having to lie one more time to keep Cyril from following him to his rooms. Bethany should have returned to their little party by now. That she hadn’t and the Duke was suspiciously missing was cause for worry and he wasn’t going to leave Anders –as unstable as the apostate was- search the castle for her when he could, at any given moment, blow something up in his frustration. He told Cyril that he had sworn before the Maker that he would remain chaste, as a sign of his devotion to the Templar Order.

Cyril had blinked in surprise and tried one more time, saying that they could be discrete but in the end Garrett had convinced him to leave it be. Good. They had almost made it back to his guest room. He watched the young man leave with a disappointed sag in his shoulders though Garrett doubted he would remain unsatisfied tonight. One of his friends no doubt could help him with his little problem. They seemed more than a little jealous by the attention he garnered too. Let the Orlesians sort this out in their own way. He made someone’s night.

Garrett waited until the lord had stepped away and the guard in the hallway moved away from his doorway before he changed out of his formal robes into his heavy armor, ready for battle in case they ran into trouble. Even packed his bag up again, deciding to take everything in it (except the lyrium. That he would keep on his person lest it be stolen) and when he was ready he snuck out of the guest quarters to the side entrance with as much stealth as could he managed with heavy officer’s Templar armor. He stashed his bag discretely.

Anders arrived just as he finished up tucking the bag out of sight just beyond the walls of the castle, his own things with him and his staff strapped to his back. Garrett showed him where he kept his bag in case the mage wanted to stash his things there too. “We need to be ready to run if it comes down to it. You have everything important with you I trust in case you absolutely must leave the bag behind?”

“I do.” 

“Good. Then let’s go find my sister. The Duke must have her locked up in a cell.”

That seemed to spur some kind of life in those strange almost orange eyes as if it stirred some kind of unpleasant memory. Anders’ hand twitched but Garrett felt no energy gathering. Good. He was at least somewhat in control of himself and his actions. Whatever it was that possessed him and warped his magic hadn’t completely destroyed the man inside yet. Perhaps that haunted man was what Bethany was hoping to save by staying with the man who was clearly too broken to be of any good to anyone other than whatever spirit or demon possessed his body now.

With both their bags stashed though Anders did keep a rather large one with a staff in it with him (probably Bethany’s robes and staff and that damned elf’s armor and weapons), they made their way around the guards to the lower cells of the dungeons which, for some reason, remained relatively unguarded but well lit. So there was someone being kept here. Hopefully Bethany was amongst them if not Tallis. They just had to figure out their way through this old and unfamiliar dungeon in this foreign castle in a foreign country well outside any familiar territory before now.

They searched and searched, their initial sense of urgency hitting levels of panic each and every time they got turned around or somehow came across a familiar part of the passage rather something new. Maybe this was why there were no guards around here. This place was as convoluted as the Fade! Garrett would know after all. He still remembered being there and conscious when people like him should never be. How mages stood being fully aware of their dreams whenever they slept like that he would ever know. He supposed it was the burden they bore to wield magic. 

After they passed the same cracked title for the fifth time Anders finally started to complain. Not that he hadn’t spoken the whole time through but his earlier suggestions were polite in comparison. “I told you we shouldn’t have turned left back there,” he all but snapped, looking more panicked and frustrated than Garrett had ever seen him while he looked around frantically for some kind of sign as to where they were and where they should go. 

“Fine then. Where should he go, Warden? You should have a better sense of direction in dark underground mazes than I would.”

“Just because I’m a Warden that doesn’t mean-”

“It means you had better be able to find my sister before she is killed or the Maker Himself won’t be able to fix what I do to you for allowing her to get into this mess.”

Anders seemed to startle at Garrett’s threat and the knight lieutenant met the resulting stare. “You were supposed to watch over her to keep her out of this kind of danger. I can’t, not from where I stand in the Order. If something happens to her in this Orlesian dungeon because of that carelessness you will not be walking away from this. Am I clear?”

“Perfectly.”

“Wonderful. Now, where do you think we should go next since, as you so kindly pointed out, my sense of direction isn’t worth a drunkard’s promise?”

Anders turned his attention back to the walls for a second before he focused on something Garrett could not see and started off in one direction. The Templar followed after him hoping this time he would be right. They didn’t have the time to just wander around down here. Sooner or later someone would notice they were missing and things would get messy.

Eventually, after what seemed like another two hours of running around, they found Bethany and her elf companion though Bethany seemed far less friendly with this Tallis than she was before. She held herself stiffly and leaned away from the little creature and Tallis seemed to hold herself pretty stiffly too. Was it because Tallis tripped whatever trap had caught them? Or was it some other kind of secret the mysterious figure that appeared out of nowhere had thought to reveal to while locked in that cell until she apparently decided to unlock it? Bethany’s wariness made Garrett wary too. 

Anders didn’t seem notice the tension between the two women. He just set the bag down relatively carefully and gathered Bethany in his arms as if he hadn’t seen her in days. She seemed startled by the display for a second before she held him just as tightly. Garrett couldn’t see Ander’s features but Bethany’s looked sad as if she understood perfectly well what was going on with him all too well. This wasn’t good. Was it something to do with his Warden blood? He remembered hearing rumors about it after the Blight when Warden Alistair was formally crowned king.

Tallis stepped around them to grab her things and change in the cell and once she was dressed Bethany stepped away from Anders to do the same with her battle robes. Garrett watched Anders closely, though Tallis was polite enough to remain within the edges of his vision. Well, at least she had manners for an assassin who knew that the others in her company were intimately familiar with what she could do. “So,” she said quietly to him while they waited for Bethany to get out of her complex formal wear, “I heard you fought Qunari while in Kirkwall.”

“I did. What of it?”

“I haven’t heard of many humans being able to stand up to a lot of ‘em is all. They tend to be pretty huge. And strong. And more than a little ruthless when they fight.”

“I had a duty to protect those that took to the Chantry for safety. I could not let them pass to kill the innocent. It was a hard won battle though if that is what you are looking for. I lost six Brothers of the Order that day to Qunari blades, spears and their more unusual forms of combat magic.”

“But I thought you guys were kind of trained against magic.”

“We Templars are but few Guardians of the Faith, those of us who protect the Chantry, have experience with battles as long and bloody as that one was. Even fewer have learned how to adapt and properly react to new forms of magic being wielded.” But he was working on that with his men in their spare time back in the Gallows. Let Anders underestimate their ability if whatever plan he and his mages had in mind to unsettle the balance between mages and Templars involved harming the Chantry.

“Huh. Cool. What did you think of the Qunari themselves?”

“Devoted creatures though barbaric. They lead simple lives, dictated by their faith, but accuse the people of Kirkwall of being mindless. Much of what they say is hypocritical if one truly pays attention to their words but I doubt they hear their words as clearly as an outsider does.”

The elf seemed to frown a little and wanted to say something but Bethany emerged from where she had been, adjusting the bracer on one of her arms while Anders handed her the staff he brought for her. It was an ornate looking thing and Garrett could almost feel the cold radiating off it. Well that wouldn’t be distracting in the slightest. Of course not. He took a deep a breath and tucked the sensation of being around such a powerful tool into the back of his mind. He had other things to focus on. Like the Orlesian soldiers that would no doubt try to stop their escape from this place.

“Andraste forgive me for what I must do,” he muttered to himself as Bethany led them further into the dungeon and Tallis told them that she knew of a way out of the dungeon without going back through the castle, “I would not raise my sword against the faithful had I any choice but for the lives I will be forced to take this day I ask that You grant them peace and take them into Your light by the Maker’s side. So let it be.”

The small group of Orlesian guards they came across were no real threat, not with two mages, an assassin and a combat trained Templar but Garrett felt the weight of their deaths more heavily than anyone but that elven blood mage many years ago. Their bodies aren’t even cold when they run through this delicate crack in the walls of the dungeons into this vast underground passage into a small network of caverns that will supposedly lead them to the outside. The ghasts appeared again, attacking out of instinct but these small creatures Garrett has no problem cutting down in self-defense. They are simple and in all likelihood didn’t have much choice. If anything their little deaths could bring them peace wherever it is such simple souls go after their passing. He doubted they could understand the Chant of Light much less accept it.

But the ghasts were not their only enemies. Further into the caverns, passed a huge underground lake and the reminder that these caverns were once a hiding place for hundreds during a Blight that swept much further across the land than just one small country, they encountered more people but these were not just Orlesian guards. The Duke’s bodyguard, a Chasin’d judging by the way he spoke, blocked their path with several mages standing with him. He said something about facing an actual challenge and their path backward was blocked just as easily as their path forward with the elf Tallis being caught on the other side.

The mages attacked on the Chasin’d’s order and Garrett fought them just as he had been trained to. Their magic was powerful but it was not the unfamiliar magic of a Qunari mage nor the twisted magic of a blood mage or even a darkspawn mage. Theirs seemed to be unfocused on comparison and only the Chasin’d’s words about how there was more than one way to break a mage gave any clue to as to why. The mages were easily Silenced and with some help of Tallis, who did return, they were easily cut down. Their lyrium laced blood burned almost as much as the wyvern’s blood that had splattered back on him. 

The gate was opened and their group continued on their way, cutting down more ghasts until they came across two passages that would lead to their way out. Tallis turned to them all and revealed herself, finally, for what she really was. The only reason why Garrett refused to cut her down for daring to stain his blade with the blood of the Faithful unnecessarily was because he was already so tired of fighting that he didn’t feel like risking his life against this assassin unless it was absolutely necessary. She asked them to help her on her mission, to save lives of those under the Qun and even tried to make her request sound reasonable.

Anders told Bethany to not help a Qunari agent and Garrett, for once, agreed with the man. “This is a Qunari affair. Let her handle her own affairs sister. She has dragged you into enough danger already on her lies and manipulations.” Such was the nature of rogues it seemed. He was glad the Order had few of them even as mage Hunters.

So they turned away and ran for it through the woods, away from the guards and the dungeons, passed a pair of wyverns fighting for dominance which they got around to leave to finish their fight and down toward a part of the path where, for some reason, more men were gathered. Garrett forced his mind to shut down and just let him fight this out first before he could think of how high the body count at his blade had become. These men were better trained than the earlier guards though. Winning this fight took more out of him.

With these men dead Bethany looked over the horizon and said that she saw a ruin of some kind. “Better to travel that way than to risk getting completely lost out here.” Garrett was just glad he still had his lyrium with him. There was no point in going back for their hidden bags now. They needed to get out of here alive before any of that could remotely come close to being a concern. So they headed toward the ruin. Garrett hoped there would be a high point at the ruin that they could use to find their way.

As it turned out, there was not that he could see. Just a group of Orlesian men facing a group of Qunari, one of which wore the oddest adornments Garrett had ever seen and handing over something that looked like a scroll. But before what was on the scroll could be explained properly, other than it was not the plans the Duke wanted, Bethany led their little group close enough to directly interfere, which Garrett could have sworn both he and Anders told her explicitly not to do. “Honestly, Ser Hawke, I am disappointed. Working with the Qunari? What would the Order think of you?”

Garrett didn’t answer the man but instead adjusted his grip when, inevitably, the noble ordered his men to kill them all. More violence. More blood and screams and pain and horror. Even with the ruin intact and the sun shining brightly down upon them, Garrett couldn’t help but be reminded of Denerim, of the blood that soaked the streets and the screams of men and creatures as they were shredded and destroyed by blades, shields and magic. The wyvern mount the Duke rode was new but just one more threat they had to deal with.

More men came onto the field to compound the issue with the Duke and his mount. Garrett focused his attention on them while the mages engaged the dragon mount and the man on top of it. The knight tried to keep his mind separate but there was only so much he could do when he had to focus hard on what he was doing to keep not only one step ahead of his opponents but also avoid the wyvern and its acidic poison that it liked to spit both at those attacking it and the Duke’s own soldiers when enraged. 

One of the archers got a couple of lucky shots in. The pain of an arrow burying itself in his shield shoulder distracted him long enough for the two handed warrior to get a good shot, one that he was barely able to deflect enough power from to survive. Instead the blow knocked him away hard, throwing him back onto the arrow and snapping the shaft while simultaneously driving what remained deeper into his shoulder. He couldn’t block out the pain of it. He screamed but forced himself to get to his feet quickly. The battle was not done.

He raised his shield but couldn’t get it as high as he did before. He gritted his teeth against the pain of doing so much as holding the steel piece but forced himself to fight through it. More warriors came and he raised his sword for defense more than he did his shield. He was able to parry more than he thought he would be able to. Many of the Orlesians were not actually strong enough with the one handed weapon to force him to step back but he did step out of the way of every two handed wielder.

Distantly he could heard the enraged snarls of the Duke and his mount. He could smell the stench of burning flesh and felt the persistant tingle of magic along the hairs in the back of his neck. Tallis, the elf from earlier, helped him by cutting down the bigger warriors but there were so many of them that it was all he could do to keep most of their focus on him while she did her rogue thing and took them out from behind. At least their deaths would be pretty quick and relatively painless. Assassins didn’t like wasting time.

When Garrett finally cut the last soldier with a one handed weapon down, a quick glance over to the main battle showed that Bethany was about to deliver the final blow to the beast and the man that used it as a mount. It was bleeding heavily and looked ready to charge. The Duke was still certain of victory it seemed even with the power Bethany was gathering in her hands. This was why he was still distracted when someone appeared behind him and he felt the sharp pressure of something being pressed forcefully into his back.

He stumbled forward, dropping his shield. His hand went to touch his chest but with the breastplate in the way he could see nothing. What had happened? What was…? He felt weak. Breathing hurt. He fell to his knees as he felt blood pooling in his gambeson. The hot stickiness not something he was inclined to forget anytime soon. What in the world? His hand shook and the figure that had been behind him stepped in front to show itself. It wasn’t Tallis, though he wouldn’t have been surprised if it was. It was a woman… holding only one dagger.

“Maker’s breath,” he gasped and coughed harshly when something tickled his throat. Blood splashed onto his hands and he could taste the copper in what remained on his tongue. He had been run through but not in the heart. He would be dead already if that were the case. Nor was it a lung because he could still speak but whatever she had hit, whatever she had carved open with her blade was certainly something his body needed to function properly. Something that held a lot of blood but he wasn’t familiar enough with human anatomy to even guess what.

Tallis killed the assassin as she raised her blade no doubt to finish him off and as soon as the assassin was down she turned to him while he fell completely onto his side. He was trying to remember, frantically, how to slow the process of bleeding out. He didn’t have the coordination to pull off his armor and staunch the flow. He felt most of the blood beneath the breastplate too, meaning that at least the wound in his back, where the blade was buried to the hilt –and he forced his mind away from that mental image quickly- was sealed against such things.

She screamed his name and then the mages came to his side. Bethany knelt next to him first, trying to get him to turn on his back so she could cushion his head. “I can’t…” he said as sharply as he could. He was starting to feel cold. That was never good. Not by a long shot. “Was stabbed… in the back… don’t want to… push it… further in.” 

She said something to Anders, whose pressed a hand to his shoulder to angle him more to lay on his stomach if only to get a better look at the wounds. He said something to Bethany that sounded professional if serious. She tightened her hold around his shoulder and Tallis handed him something leather to put between his teeth. “This is going to hurt,” the elf said in his ear and Garrett closed his eyes in anticipation. Pain he could handle. Pain was a sign that he was alive. He wasn’t going to die like Carver, broken and blood and left to rot in a Blighted field sounded by darkspawn corpses. Nor was he going to die like Mother, twisted and broken by a blood mage. 

The blade in his back was torn out and his scream, although muffled by the leather strap, was loud enough to make his throat hurt even if he could hear nothing over the white hot agony that lanced through him. The minty wave of healing magic swept over him then, more powerful than the healing magic of the healer in the Circle, but the pain didn’t recede. If anything it seemed to get worse steadily. Garrett had to fight to keep himself still as it felt like his wound was being cauterized. He welcomed the darkness that enveloped him eventually.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrett wakes up at the Amell Estate alive and getting better. He and Sebastian reconnect and Grand Cleric Elthina has a few words to say on the matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not so sure that Sebastian is still in character in this chapter so do forgive the out of character behavior.

When next Garrett Hawke awoke he was not in the infirmary at the Gallows but rather in the cot at the Amell Estate again, achy but not actively in pain although why that was he wasn’t sure. He vaguely remembered Chateau Haine, the Duke de Montfort and a battle but that was about it. There were bandages wrapped tightly around his torso and his shoulder was immobilized again. Judging by the fact that he could feel the soft cloth of blankets on what skin was not bandaged he knew someone had undressed him though he wasn’t sure who. He moved carefully to sit up in the bed, trying not to jostle his bad shoulder but even that effort sent a sharp wave of pain sweeping through him. He grunted and lay flat again. Well. That answered that question.

The door to the room opened a moment later and a thin elven woman walked in, carrying a bundle of towels in her arms. She almost dropped them when she saw he was awake but instead set them aside. “Master Hawke!” she said with some enthusiasm as she hurried to his side, “Mistress Bethany will be pleased to hear it. She has been very worried. Master Anders did all he could but you wouldn’t wake. He said something about it taking time for the poison to clear your system.”

Poison? Then he had been injured. Pretty badly if healing magic couldn’t ease the damage in his shoulder and back after so long. “How long have I been here?” It had taken a week to get to the Chateau if he remembered correctly. 

“Two weeks. Master Anders has been working tirelessly to heal you. He is resting now I think though I could fetch Mistress Bethany if you would like to speak with her. I’m sure she’d like to know how you are doing.”

“If you could help me sit up before fetching her I would appreciate it.” Maybe he could convince Bethany to hold a mirror so he could shave. Three weeks of beard growth bothered him on a fundamental level. Fereldens were known for being scruffy but he had made it a point of pride to keep clean shaven and his hair well-kept and styled. It was bad enough that his curls were falling about over his ears and forehead. He didn’t need to beard to add on to the look.

The elf helped him prop himself up on the pillows before she left him for a few moments to retrieve Bethany and the look on his sister’s face alone was enough for Garrett to forget temporarily about how irritating the beard was. He hadn’t thought he would ever be responsible for making his sister cry but apparently he had. The arm that wasn’t bound in place reached out to her. “It’s alright,” he said, “I’m alright, or I will be, thanks to you and Anders. I’ll be fine.” He thought so at least. He felt much more alive than dead.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“About what she did? What she had them do to you?”

How did… “In regards to what, Bethany? Meredith hasn’t done anything to me.” Recently at least.

“Don’t lie. Anders said he could sense it, old wounds that were poorly healed because they had been left to fester for too long.”

“And you think Meredith’s responsible?”

“Lashes leave distinct scars, brother, and no fighter I’ve ever come across has used a whip in combat.”

Garrett sighed but didn’t reply. What could he say? That Meredith tried and failed to torture information about her whereabouts from him for weeks? That he was assigned to serve in the Chantry partly because of his experiences in the Lothering Chantry and partly because his known apostate sibling made having him serve in the Circle or as a Hunter was too dangerous because of his “sympathies”? “I disobeyed an order and was punished for it.” Which was the truth. “There was no reason to tell you and it was years ago. I had forgotten about it.”

“What about the battles with the Qunari? And now with the Duke de Montfort?”

“What about them?”

Bethany’s anger shifted and suddenly Garrett heard more worry in her tone than anything though her words were still sharp. “How much more abuse do you think your body can take before it fails you completely?”

Again Garrett made an effort to sit properly and took his time to fight through the waves of pain. It was easier when he knew he would be facing them. Bethany reached for him but he waved her hand away while he composed himself again to speak to her clearly. She needed to hear this from him not just because he was her brother and her only family left but also because he had chosen his path, a path that he was meant to walk that she couldn’t follow him down. “I chose this life Bethany. So long as I can lift a shield or wield a blade, I will defend the faithful in the Maker’s name from any who would harm it. I chose to be a Templar and if the Maker sees fit to take my life in service to Him and His Bride, then so be it.”

“So you would just throw your life away?”

“No, not at all. But neither will I shirk from my duty to Him or the Chantry, even if it may cost me my life.”

“So you would throw yourself at anything or anyone Meredith ordered you to?”

“No. Not if her orders did not clearly abide the laws set by the Chantry or the Chant of Light itself.”

That seemed to calm her a bit but Ser Garrett Hawke knew that their argument was far from over. His sister was always stubborn, even as children. It was what made her a strong mage. So instead of letting her dwell on the subject he changed it in a way. “Did you send word to the Knight Captain of where I was? I wouldn’t want him to think I somehow deserted the Order.”

“I did. I sent Bohdan to go tell him you were awake too since Anders and I have to leave soon.”

Leave? “Where to?”

For a moment Bethany seemed to set her teeth against the very idea of telling him where she was going. He imagined she would even try to tell him that he wasn’t Father so it was none of his business. But after a few moments she said that she had some business to take care of outside the city that required her full attention. “Anders said that your shoulder should be fine by the time we get back and if you take the daily potion he’s prescribed you, should make a full recovery with a bit of time. He also said that the joint and muscle have taken too much damage in the recent years and if dealt another blow like that might not make a proper recovery next time so do be careful.”

Garrett couldn’t promise her that so she merely said that he would try. That much she accepted and got up to leave the room just as the serving girl from earlier returned with a towel in her hands and a bucket hanging off her arm with bathing supplies inside. “I have a bath ready for you, Master Hawke,” she said in her mildly nervous lilt, “I was told you may need help bathing with your shoulder the way it is?”

He opened her mouth to tell her “no” but Bethany spoke in his stead and told the girl he would but that he was extremely shy around women and would rather Brother Sebastian’s aid. Garrett almost startled at the mention of Sebastian. Why would she think to mention to him that he was awake? Unless he was already visiting for some reason but why would he without some excuse for seeing him? The elven girl merely accepted his as an answer and waited by the door for Garrett to get up as patiently as only someone who has spent a lifetime in servitude could.

It took Garrett a few moments to gather his thoughts again and get to his feet slowly, careful of pulling at the sore muscle and until recently torn flesh. He felt a little light headed when he stood fully and weak on his feet but two weeks of being in bed would do such to a man, regardless of how strong he had been as a warrior to begin with. His steps were slow and careful out of the room as the girl led him to a neighboring wash room where a hot bath was already waiting for him. She set the bucket and towel aside quickly inside the room. “I will fetch Master Sebastian for you.” 

“Thank you.”

He barely waited for her to leave before he began to undo the bandages wrapped so tightly around his body. If he was going to wash properly, he could not afford to let the bandages get wet. Not that Bethany couldn’t afford new ones for him but old habits died hard and as these were not completely soaked through with his blood, it was better to set them aside and reuse them than to fetch a new set when they weren’t needed. 

He had barely begun to get them undone when there was a quiet knock at the door and he called for that person to enter. Sebastian looked like he hadn’t slept well in a week but not unkempt. Perhaps it was because he had known and been so close to the priest that he noticed it. He smiled for the man, an attempt to lighten the mood but he could tell just by the relief he saw on his beloved’s face that humor was not the way to approach this. “I am alright now,” Garrett said softly, still trying to work off the bandages, “I am clearly alive and moving.”

“I can see that,” Sebastian all but snapped as he stormed across the room and Garrett raised a dark eyebrow at his tone. “By the Maker’s Divine Light, Garrett, I almost lost you! Again!” Archer’s hands cupped his face and their kiss was not the chaste but loving kisses they shared before but one tinged with desperation and no little hint of salt from silently shed tears. The Templar felt his heart clench at the realization that he had been the one to hurt his beloved so, even if it was not intentional. 

“I’m sorry, Sebastian,” he said when they separated, foreheads resting against each other as they breathed in each other’s air, “If it makes you feel any better I did everything I could to come back to you safe and sound. I may have a new scar to add to my collection but I am here, I am alive, I am relatively well. You don’t have to worry about me so much. I am right here.”

Sebastian’s hands, having slid down to Garrett’s forearms when they spoke tightened for just a fraction of a second. “If you had not survived…. If she came home and you didn’t… I cannot say I would not have ended her myself. I know that I have sworn myself to Andraste, swore before the Maker that I would take no bride nor keep any earthly attachments but…” He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment and the Templar let him. “…I can no longer imagine my life without you in it.”

“I cannot either but, Sebastian, your vows…”

“I know. Maker forgive me, I know. Yet I cannot help but wish I had not made them. I would marry you this moment if I could.”

“In just my trousers and bandages? That might scare the nobility and more than a few of the Sisters. I doubt my scars are that pretty to look at.”

That earned him a small laugh but it was a tight, almost pained sound. It was better than the desperation he kept hearing through. In the last seven years he had spent more time in a sick bed than he ever had in Ferelden. His body bore more scars than any excursion into the Wilds had led to and his faith in the Order had been tested more harshly than he had ever considered it needing to be tested. Perhaps it was just the Maker testing his will to serve Him over the will of men? He didn’t know and, quite frankly, he wasn’t so sure he could tell clearly anymore. 

“Have you spoken to the Grand Cleric about this? Told her how you feel?”

“She claims that I am fickle and to turn away from the Chantry after having made my vows would be turning my back on the Maker.”

“Surely love would not be so scorned by the Maker or Andraste. She too had an earthly husband whom she loved as dearly as the Maker. She of all people would understand your plight.”

Again Sebastian kissed him but lightly, gently, as if just to reassure himself that Garrett was not some lie he had conjured in his mind. He wrinkled his nose this time when they separated though. “Your beard feels odd,” he said. 

“Three weeks of rest will do that. Speaking of which, would you mind helping me get these bandages off? I may need help with my bath until my shoulder is healed well enough.”

There was a light but fetching blush across Sebastian’s cheeks but he hummed his acquiescence and set to work. Garrett helped when he could and before long he was nude and being eased into the still warm water of the bath. He thought it odd until he felt the gentle tingle of magic in the tub itself. Runes that. Interesting use of them but he wasn’t ungrateful. While Sebastian knelt beside the tub to gather the soaps and cloths he needed Garrett closed his eyes and just let himself enjoy the sensation of hot water against his skin for once. It had been years since he had known this kind of luxury. 

While Sebastian helped him wash his hair then body they spoke idly of the goings on of Kirkwall while he had been laid up and apparently in a deep sleep in the Amell Estate. Apparently while he had been out, Meredith had called on Bethany to help her track dangerous apostates if only to show her the kind of dangers the Hunters of the Order faced. 

Sebastian had gone with them this time. The elf gone mad enough with power to butcher his own wife for her blood neither of them had any sympathy for. The poor woman with the refugee children who turned to demons to defend them had at least a proper funeral after she was put down. “It was the least I could do for her,” Sebastian said, “When her circumstances pushed her to such desperate acts.” The last… turned out to be little more than a boy trying to experience the world outside of Meredith’s rule. Not that Garrett could blame him. The Gallows was a ridiculously restrictive Circle from what he understood. For good reason apparently.

Their conversation fell into a lull while they carefully washed Garrett’s damaged shoulder and arm then Sebastian proceeded to shave his beloved’s face and neck smooth again. It was delicate work but the end result felt satisfying even if it meant that Garrett would have to emerge from the warmth of the tub. The towels set aside were rough towels, likely towels that could be thrown away should they be stained with blood. Fresh bandages had been brought when they weren’t paying attention as well as a change of clothes. After applying the proper salves first, Garrett let Sebastian’s practiced hands bind his body in the bandages again before they worked together to dress the Templar at least decently. In fact they had just finished up when Bohdan politely knocked on the door and said that Garrett had a guest waiting in the foyer. For just a moment Garrett wondered who that could be. He didn’t live here per say…

Feeling stronger after the bath he was able to stand up a little straighter and, even with his arm bound to allow his shoulder to heal, retain some of the poise he usually carried himself with to meet this guest. He half expected a knight lieutenant or even the knight captain. Grand Cleric Elthina, without any of the Order at her sides, was a surprise. He might have bowed or knelt if he thought he could do so without opening his wounds again. Instead he merely saluted and bowed his head. “Your Grace,” he said, “To what do I owe the honor of a personal visit?”

“I came by to see how my favorite Knight Lieutenant is doing after his latest injury in the line of duty.”

“It was hardly in the line of duty to the Order, Your Grace, but I thank you for the concern. I am recovering though it may be some time before I can properly carry the shield again.”

She sighed with an amused look on her face, one that Garrett didn’t quite understand. “Well that is good but there is something else I would like to speak to you about. Something of a more personal nature.”

“Of course. Perhaps in the study? My sister and her… well. They’re gone for the moment but I’m certain they wouldn’t begrudge us the use of the study for a while.”

He motioned with his good arm where the study was and Bohdan smiled as he said he’d be right back with refreshments. Sebastian, having just stepped from the bathing room after presumably gathering the dirty clothes and towels together in an organized manner, looked confused but all Garrett could do was shrug. Whatever the Grand Cleric wanted to say was personal, apparently. “I’ll wait for you in your room then, I suppose,” Sebastian ended up saying quietly, “I believe your sheets could use a change anyway if the servants haven’t gotten to them.” 

They parted ways, leaving Garrett to speak to Elthina alone. Even Bohdan just left the tea tray in the room on a small table before leaving. All of a sudden this talk seemed nerve wracking. Or rather, everyone around him was making it seem nerve wracking. Elthina seemed calm and maybe a bit entertained. She must handle this kind of thing fairly often then, whatever it was.

“Do calm down, child. You’re not in trouble with me.”

“I didn’t think I was.” Perhaps with the knight captain but not with her. “But what was it we did need to speak of?”

“Sebastian of course.”

Shit. Perhaps they hadn’t been as subtle as he thought. “What about him, Your Grace?”

“As you serve in the Chantry I’m sure you’ve noticed that he spends less time amongst his fellow clerics than he does out in the city?”

“Yes. Bethany does good work for many people. I believe he thinks in helping her he is helping the people.”

“He took his vows to join us in the clergy seven years ago and has done his duty but it would take someone who is truly blind to see he is not happy with his life in the brotherhood. He wishes to serve the Maker but you are proof that it can be done without the priesthood.”

“Then you wish me to encourage him to join the Order?”

“No. I want you to help him decide what will make him happy.”

Garrett looked away from the Grand Cleric into the fire flickering in the hearth. He wished he had an easy answer for this. He knew what he wanted, what would make him happiest. But Sebastian? He was happier in the priesthood than most. He had the patience and the love for all the Maker’s children that was so hard to find in many priests. He found joy in prayer and meditation and while Garrett did not doubt he liked the exercise of going out to help Bethany on her errands, he had a feeling it was more about helping innocent people that slipped through the cracks than it was the actual use of his bow and lockpicking skills. The Order was too strict to allow for that kind of decision making. Even some Templars put the Order before the commandments in the Chant, something that didn’t sit well with the few who were more devout.

Yet there was no denying that Sebastian was still worried about Starkhaven, was eager to hear news of his homeland even if it was poor news. He was not born to be a prince but he had the right of it. Garrett was certain that with the Maker’s guiding hand he would be a just, fair and kind prince to everyone who walked the streets of the city-state. But would the politics make him happy? Would he not regret breaking his vows to the Maker, to leave all worldly goods and concerns behind in service to Him? There were extraordinary circumstances but a vow was a vow. Unless the Maker was testing him? Testing to see the strength of his faith when presented with a choice?

Garrett remembered all too well the dream the Desire demon showed him, a dream where he had set aside his sword and shield and left the Order to stand by Sebastian’s side as his husband. The demon did not lie. It was something he wished for deeply. Yet he could not bring himself to push his desires onto another, even if it was someone he loved deeply. 

Garrett did not notice the Grand Cleric stand until she rested her hand his undamaged arm. He blinked at her, surprised, but her amused smile from earlier was instead gentle like a mother watching her child. Appropriate given her standing within the Chantry. “You do not have to decide this now but know, Ser Garrett, that whatever decision you two make together, that I will be happy for you. Sebastian is a good boy who, for a long time, was lost in his way. He has found peace with the Chant but the path of the priesthood is not for everyone, especially one who has fallen in love with the soul of another. Just promise me one thing; should he turn from the Chantry to serve the Maker and his people as Prince that you will stand by his side as you stand by his now. I worry he would not be able to face the trials of nobility without a knight by his side to shield him from the worst of it.”

That she would bless their union should they desire it was almost as heartwarming as the words to make him promise to stand by Sebastian’s side through thick and thin no matter what was decided. The Order served the Chantry, served the People, but in Kirkwall the way the Knight Commander wielded them left a foul taste in his mouth. He could leave the Order if Sebastian wished it. He knew his beloved would not ask him to take up the sword again for anything that the Chant would not condone it for. But first they would have to make a decision… one that would take time and careful consideration to make. “I promise, unto the Maker and Andraste, that I will not leave Sebastian’s side, no matter his decision in this matter. So let it be.” 

“So let it be.” The Grand Cleric replied. “I’ll leave you to rest then. Pass my message along to Sebastian when you get the chance. Take your time to make your decision and be sure to let me know.”

“We will, Your Grace. And thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

Garrett walked her to the front door, as was proper with such an esteemed guest visiting, and made sure her guards were with her when she left to return to the Chantry. He did not recognize them right away but he did return their salute when they snapped to attention in his presence. He would have asked them about how things were going but he could not bring himself to just yet. After weeks of bedrest his strength was waning, much to his frustration, and he had things he needed to discuss with Sebastian anyway. He waited until the group was out of sight before turning back inside and returning to the small room he had found himself in. 

Sebastian was sitting on the small cot, at once looking worried yet calm. He was probably praying to ease his nerves. “It’s alright, Sebastian. She’s gone.”

“And? What did she have to say?”

“She came to check on me,” Garrett answered honestly, “and asked me to help you decide the path that would make you happiest. She feels you are unhappy in the priesthood but feel as if you cannot leave, even if it is not the path meant for you.”

“She has always said I was fickle…”

Garrett sighed and took a seat next to Sebastian. This was going to be a long discussion. He could only hope they’d make the right choice.


	17. For She Who Believes in the Maker...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conflict comes to a head and Sebastian, infuriated leaves for Starkhaven. Garrett feels as if he has no choice but to follow... no matter how hard to walk away from another warzone is.

By the time Knight Lieutenant Garrett Hawke returned to his duties at the Chantry, tensions had risen to the point of making walking through the streets in anything less than his full armor dangerous. He still could not use his shield as he once had and the few healers left in the Circle had warned him that one more hard enough blow would cripple that arm completely. He was told to give it time and gradually work his arm back into the shape it needed to be in to carry the steel as he once had. The Templar knew, however, that the world was rarely so patient. 

Still he did as they recommended. He never bore the full weight of his shield on his arm even in training, instead either using a wooden shield or no shield at all. It felt odd at first, the lack of weight throwing off some of his time, but with practice against some of the more experienced knights he quickly learned to compensate. His shoulder often ached after the practice but he didn’t dare let those he sparred with know of this weakness. He was not blind. Upon his return to the barracks in the Circle he had noticed the far too many Tranquil in the courtyards and the way the few mages that were permitted outside the building’s main walls flinched and all but bowed when he walked by. Ser Thrask was not wrong. Meredith was turning the Gallows into a cruel prison.

Yet he didn’t say anything about it. There was nothing he could do that would be of any help. He knew that there were some apostates like Bethany and father who were good people and just wanted to live normal lives and there were others like that monster that had turned mother into a twisted form of his dead wife in his grief. But to voice this opinion would only bring trouble upon his head and if he were declared a traitor and executed or exiled from the Order he couldn’t very well do what little he could to keep Grand Cleric Elthina safe while she did all she could to keep the peace.

Bethany rarely spoke to him anymore. The few times she did it was as if they were strangers. More than once he passed by her and her little group of friends, usually with Anders by her side, while they were leaving the estate late in the evening while he was on his way home. Anders didn’t glare at him but rather stared at him with tired eyes the few times they spoke. She kept demanding that he make a stand of some kind, rally more Templars as Ser Thrask did. When he told her he could not because he was head of the Chantry security and didn’t have that kind of pull outside of the knights who served in the Chantry she would scoff at him and be on her way. Garrett began to think he had no idea who his sister was anymore… and that thought alone unnerved him.

One day, about a month after he had returned to his duties, Ser Garrett was finishing his rounds with his men within the Chantry when he spotted an out of breath messenger from the Circle. A mage, one of Orsino’s Enchanters, told him that the First Enchanter was marching to the Chantry to speak with Grand Cleric Elthina about Meredith’s latest order. “He says she’s out of line, lost her mind to the paranoia and refuses to let her do as wants anymore. Unless he hears it from Elthina herself that he must submit to the Knight Commander, he refuses to comply with any of her requests!”

“What has she done this time that he claims is so unreasonable?”

“She wants to have the Circle searched, top to bottom, for any trace of magic cast outside of acceptable parameters. She claims she’s looking for blood magic but some of the mages she accuses… forgive me for saying so but most of them can’t manage getting out of bed at a reasonable hour much less secretly learn the Forbidden School.”

Knowing nothing about how the Gallows was run before Meredith took on the mantle of Viscountess of Kirkwall, Garrett couldn’t honestly say which was in the right. But a look over the messenger’s shoulder showed that both Orsino and Meredith were nearly at the Chantry, their little entourages in tow. Garrett frowned and had the nearest Templar escort the messenger to the Grand Cleric to deliver the message. “I’ll stall them as best I can,” the told the messenger and hoped Her Grace would take the time from her busy schedule to settle this before it escalated.

By the time Garrett reached the pair he heard Meredith snapping at Orsino “I will have the tower searched, top to bottom!”

But Orsino’s reply was no less waspish. “You cannot do that! You have no right!”

“I have every right! You are harboring blood mages and I intend to route them out before they infect this city!”

“Blood magic… where do you not see blood magic? My people can’t sneeze without you accusing them of corruption!”

“Do not trifle with me, mage! My patience is at an end!”

“A wonder that I never saw it begin…”

“Knight Commander. First Enchanter,” Garrett said loudly to draw their attention even as he saw Bethany and her companions join the little conversation, “A pleasure to see you both this evening. You seem to be getting along as well as usual.”

They ignored him in favor of Bethany who snapped at them both to stop arguing, immediately. Meredith turned on her next, citing that she had no involvement in the matter but Orsino objected, claiming he called her to join them as he brought this latest demand to Elthina. “I think the people deserve to know just what you have done.”

“What I have done, is protect the people of this city time and again. What I have done is protect you mages from your curse and your own stupidity. And I will not stop doing it! I will not lower our guard! I dare not!”

Garrett watched from his place on the stairs, folding his arms over his chest and Bethany told Meredith she was out of line. Meredith tried to appeal to Bethany’s sense of protection, tried to use the fact that their mother was the victim of magic to convince her that any measure taken for the protection of the common folk was a necessary one. He might have paid more attention to the words if he wasn’t trying to ignore the soft, dark song that had risen in the back of his mind, distracting him from the conversation they were having.

Bethany said something in retaliation, Orsino insisted not all mages were monsters. Meredith told them that she wished their words were true but she had to stay vigilant to protect those who could not defend themselves. “If you cannot tell me of another way, do not brand me a tyrant.”

But Orsino had enough. “This is getting us nowhere,” Garrett barely heard, “Grand Cleric Elthina will put a stop to this!”

He raised his hands to stop him from getting closer to the Chantry but Meredith stopped him instead, growling that he would not bring Elthina into their argument. Garrett hoped Her Grace would make an appearance soon. He was not certain he could keep them out here much longer. Not where their argument could be heard by any who passed and the people could rally around one or the other and make matters worse.

But then something sparked within Anders, something that made the lyrium in Garrett’s blood burn. He spoke, said something about the Grand Cleric not being able to help them. The dark singing that echoed in his mind was muffled by the discord that rang in his ears and seemed to reverberate through his bones. There was a flare of some kind. Pain shot through him but he forced himself to remain standing. He didn’t dare draw his weapons. He feared one group or the other would take it as a sign of aggression. But something was building… something dangerous.

Anders tapped the ground with his staff a few times during his spiel. Garrett felt power channel through the ground below his feet. The pain flared across his nerves and he gasped, falling to one knee. How could his brother Templars not sense this? How could they not hear that damned song or that split voice?

He didn’t see the explosion first hand. He felt the power that rose from it thought, felt himself screaming against the noise and then it finally exploded was thrown down the remainder of the stairs, landing in a heap, stunned between Meredith and Orsino’s feet. It took him several long moments to recover, hearing voices around him as he stirred and tried to sit up but it wasn’t until a pair of strong hands helped him to sit back against the ruins of the staircase that he was able to open his eyes and see the chaos left in its wake. Meredith and Orsino were talking to Bethany. Anders looked sad, tired but unrepentant. What was…?

“Garrett!”

He turned toward the person kneeling next to him, a bleary eyed Sebastian who was apparently running his fingers through Garrett’s hair to try and get his attention. “Seb-Sebastian?”

“Can you hear me? Are you alright?”

“I-I can hear you.” Barely. The dark music hadn’t faded even if the burn of the unknown magic had gone. “I… I think I’m alright. What happened?”

“The… the Chantry. It’s gone.”

“Gone? What do you…?” Garrett twisted where he sat to see the charred remains of the once holy building, pieces of the walls still standing the only reason why one might have thought there originally was a building there. The explosion had wiped it out… and everyone inside. “Oh Blessed Andraste…”

“I’ve made my decision!” Garrett heard Bethany snap at Meredith, “I am not helping you!”

And that seemed to be all Meredith needed to hear. She ordered her men to kill the mages gathered, said she would go to rally the rest of the Order. Garrett had Sebastian help him to his feet just before the fighting began in earnest. It felt odd to fight Brothers of the Order, to have to cut them down or at least distract them so they would fall to a mage’s spell, but there was little choice in the matter. It was him or them and Garrett had trouble believing that the Maker would hold their deaths against him when they were the ones who came at him first.

But when the fighting was over and the junior knights lay dead, Orsino said he had to the Gallows to prepare what was left of the mages. “I’ll leave your… friend for you to deal with.” Garrett turned to find the mage sitting quietly on a box, as if waiting for his sentence. Bethany looked torn but Garrett felt only tired. Hollow. His very bones ached from the power being thrown around and although the song had faded as Meredith left it was as if his ears still rang with it.

He almost didn’t hear Bethany ask for everyone’s thoughts on Anders’ fate. Garrett stared at her, confused by why she was even uncertain to begin with. “He slaughtered my men, the clergy, the Grand Cleric, and with this war he’s just begun countless more. How many civilians will get caught in the crossfire? How many innocents will suffer? If he could not control himself before, even with you at his side, what makes you think he will control himself any better now?”

Still she seemed troubled by having to make the choice. Garrett understood, in his own way. If he had to choose between seeing justice done and taking Sebastian’s life… well. Sebastian wouldn’t make him choose. If he had done something on this scale that would throw the world into war he would have accepted death as his penance for those who lives were immediately lost… and the lives that would come. Anders seemed to think in the immediate, however, and selfishly. How she ever thought the man could compare to father he had no idea.

But Bethany, even in her recent ruthlessness, seemed to be unable to bring herself to kill the man she loved. She asked him to come with her, to fight the Templars and defend the unwitting mages he threw into this war. Garrett’s hands tightened on his weapons. This… this was wrong. Meredith was not right for invoking the Rite of Annulment (as he presumed that was the order she gave to warrant attacking the First Enchanter) but neither was asking this terrorist’s aid to defend the barely armed and unprepared mages that were suddenly thrown into a war they hadn’t even known was brewing outside the walls of the Gallows. He almost spoke up, would have, had Sebastian not stepped in, demanding that Anders’ die for his deeds. 

Yet Bethany would not be swayed. The look in her eyes spoke of the Hawke stubbornness, the willingness to stand for what they believed was right. Garrett knew that if Sebastian tried to fight her he would not stand a chance. Fortunately Sebastian knew that too. “I will not fight you, Hawke,” he said, his voice colder than Garrett had ever heard, “My death now would serve nothing. I will return to Starkhaven but I swear to you, I will come back and find your precious Anders. I will teach him what true justice is!”

He turned sharply on his heel at that and Garrett wished there was another way. It was not right that he turn his back on this war, he was a Knight of the Templar Order and he could not turn his back on the people of Kirkwall who even now were getting caught in the crossfire between mages, abominations, demons and Templars. Yet he could not let the light of his life just walk away in the midst of all this, suddenly alone again and so very angry in his grief over the death of so many innocents.

He wished he had the time to pray for guidance, to ask Andraste what She would have done in his boots. But the longer he waited the further away Sebastian was getting. The Maker had brought them together for a reason. Their love had held strong across the years, despite the trials they faced to prove their love to be pure. So he looked to Bethany who glared at him with her dark hazel eyes and sighed. “I hope you know what you’re doing, sister,” he said moving to follow after Sebastian, “Maker turn His gaze on you.” He turned away without another word, his sword in his hand and shield on his arm, ready to face whatever might try to block his and Sebastian’s path to safety out of the city.

The fighting, when he and Sebastian encountered it was bloody and brutal. It reminded Garrett a little too much of the Battle of Denerim in some ways to the point where, unthinkingly, he ordered Templars around him to keep the demons they faced under control and the casualties of the men and women in armor to a minimum. His shield was nearly clawed through a few times and ichor stained the wood dark. He knew even as they moved on from one battle to the next that his armor would forever be stained with the stuff and the robes he wore beneath it ruined beyond all use. There was no time to stop and help the civilians trapped under the collapsed buildings or running from the fights. He could only hope the city guardsmen had the manpower to be able to save as many as they could while the battle continued to rage throughout the streets.

The pair still hadn’t said a word to each other by the time they got to the city gate but Garrett was the one who procured a pair of horses for them from the Order’s stables just outside the city gate. They were fast and fairly strong creatures, bred for messengers and long distance traveling. Garrett knew his would not be able to withstand the plate of his armor for the entirety of the journey but hopefully would be able to handle the weight until they got to the next city where he could exchange it for lighter armor. Mages were rarely physical. The weight of the armor mattered little against their spells.

As they rode into the night, heading North away from the sea, Garrett paused his mount at the top of one of the mountains in the nearby pass just long enough to look back at Kirkwall… and felt his heart twist as the flames burned. “Blessed are the Righteous, the Lights in the Shadow,” Garrett sung quietly to himself, hoping beyond hope that whatever the outcome was this day that the Maker would see the horrors brought upon the innocent by the war that was to come and guide those that would lead it to save as many as possible, “In their blood, the Maker’s Will is written.”

The journey north to Starkhaven was long and tedious. After exchanging his heavier armor for a medium set at the first Chantry the two of them came across (and acquiring enough lyrium to avoid making the journey agonizing), they purchased what few supplies what money they had could buy for their long journey. Sebastian’s skill with a bow made him the natural choice to hunt meat to supplement what supplies they had while Garrett gathered firewood, cared for their horses and set up camp by the evening light. Only when Sebastian was gone or asleep did he allow himself to take what lyrium he had rationed for himself that day, hoping to hide his need for it amongst their other duties. Maker only knew what his beloved would think of him if he knew how dependent Garrett was on the stuff, an addiction every man and woman who carried the shield of the Order endured in service to the Maker.

By the time they had reached the city of Starkhaven, the news of the ruin of Kirkwall had already spread through the masses. As they left their horses at the stables outside and shouldered their packs they heard merchants lamenting over the loss of the city’s largest trading partner and whispers of what was going to happen now. Garrett tried to hear what he could, keeping his face hidden beneath the deep hood of robes but Sebastian stood straight and tall, navigating through the crowds of the city with ease as if he wasn’t hearing a word. When they came across the royal palace in the center of the city it was all the Templar could do to keep from gaping. He had known Sebastian was nobility but this… he had never seen a building so grand.

Sebastian did not wait for an attendant to take his bag or escort him to wherever the man kept those waiting to see the current Prince. He marched right passed the man, Garrett apologizing quietly behind him, until he all but threw open the doors to the throne room, startling the slouching and clearly confused man on the throne and the men surrounding him. “Cousin Goran,” Sebastian said, finally settling his bag down next to him as he stepped closer. Garrett dropped his hood as he watched, his hands at the ready to draw his sword and don his shield if he had to. “It has been some time. You look well.”

“Cousin Sebastian! I didn’t… we thought you were…”

“Dead? I should imagine so. The woman who hired those assassins went through quite a bit of trouble to ensure they were all very dead so you could take the throne. I believe she planned to marry you off to her daughter when she first got the chance.”

“You can’t think that I…!”

“No Goran, I know you had no knowledge of her plan. But with Kirkwall fallen under the sway of maleficarum, Starkhaven must stand ready for war with her rightful ruler in his place.”  
One of the advisors opened his mouth to protest but Garrett spoke up instead. “Lord Sebastian Vael speaks the truth. Kirkwall has fallen. The mages stand tall and have overthrown the Templar Order. Unless you are prepared to lead your people should the war between the Order and the mages come to Starkhaven, you would be wise to step down and allow Lord Sebastian to take command.”

“But how do we know this is even the Prince?” the advisor asked sternly, “For all we know this could be an imposter, a mercenary who killed and stole his armor.”

“Ask any of our citizens who have visited or lived in Kirkwall within the last five years. I served as a lay brother in the Chantry and had been about to take my final vows when word of their slaughter reached my ears. I stayed in Kirkwall to seek guidance but this act of war has made clear the path I am meant to walk.”

A young lady and two you men stepped forward. “He is who he claims to be,” the woman said, “He saved my family and I from a terrible fate at the hands of a maleficar.” The men with her agreed. 

“You are certain, Lady Harrimann?”

“I am.”

The advisor looked disgruntled but not inclined to call the guards on them. Garrett relaxed minutely and the current Prince stood from his throne and motioned for the waiting servants to come closer. “Prepare a room for this man and his guest in the guest wing. We’ll be hosting them for tonight while we verify these claims.”

The servants bowed and left but Garrett saw the advisor that had spoken up whispering something frantically to the ruler as if he had somehow blundered. The Templar didn’t care much about it though and followed the servant who tapped at his shoulder towards the guest rooms. The palace itself was larger on the inside than it had looked on the outside but the décor was simple yet elegant. He felt bad for walking along its halls in his dusty armor and dirty boots.

He quietly thanked the Maker that the room he was given was small and simple but not as cramped as the cell he had lived in while in Kirkwall or even his quarters in Lothering before the Blight. In one alcove was a shrine to Andraste, properly lit and a small but simple bureau which he used to store his things… well everything except the lyrium. He washed up quickly, shaved his face and changed his clothes into a fresh set of robes before cleaning and polishing his boots and kneeling in prayer. He thanked Andraste for guiding him and Sebastian safely this far and asked Her to look out for Bethany. He could handle things well enough here he thought. 

After his prayers Ser Garrett got to his feet and met Sebastian in the hallway, glad to see him dressed down from his armor. Garrett had never seen him in anything other than his armor or the Chantry robes so the light blue tunic with fine looking white pants and elegant brown boots was something he had to admit reminded him a little more solidly of Sebastian’s status in this city state. “You’re ready to meet what’s left of my family?” Sebastian asked with a small smirk pulling at his features, “They’re not quite the vultures that the Orlesians are known to be but nobility is still nobility.”

“Sebastian I have faced abominations, blood mages, demons and even fought in the Blight itself. Compared to that, your family barely registers as threatening.”


End file.
